Here 'Til Forever
by Writerforthem
Summary: A haunted house is nothing new. Ghosts they can handle. But as Dean always says, Demons they get, people are crazy. And crazy people leave crazy ghosts. Casefic between 'Torn and Frayed' and 'LARP and the Real Girl'. An almost interlude to the boys getting back to smooth sailing.
1. Chapter 1

**Started this what seems like forever ago but school has kept me busy.**

**No guarantee on quick updates, but I really like to think I know where it's headed.**

**Hope you guys like.**

**A slightly (maybe?) AU casefic.**

**And possibly wincest later. What can I say? I've been pulled to the dark side.**

**Takes place somewhere between 'Torn and Frayed' and 'LARP and the Real Girl'. An almost interlude to getting things back on track between the two.**

**Also... I may have a thing for depressed Sam...**

* * *

It doesn't start on a dark and stormy night. Quite the opposite actually. It starts on a sunny day. Not a cloud in sight and hours before dark. It starts at a house. An old, empty house in the middle of a clearing. Grown over now, but not yet buried by the foliage. It starts with a group of kids. Just hiking through the wilderness.

It starts because of curiosity. One by one they enter the house. Five go in. None come out. The house stands silent. Curiosity doesn't only kill cats.

**Ch. 1**

"Five people disappeared, Sam! How is that not our thing?"

"Wow, Dean. A group of hikers got lost in the woods. Better alert the media."

Dean looks to Sam with a sigh. "The media has been alerted, Sam. And now more people are going to go into those woods in search of those missing people. Now. You may not want to acknowledge the fact that this is a case, but it is. People have disappeared in these woods before. The pattern is being uncovered by the police. We need to get there before they do."

Sam glares out his window. "Fine. We'll go check it out. But it's probably nothing. And have you forgotten that we have more important things to worry about like maybe the gates of hell? And Crowley?"

"You know as well as I do that we haven't gotten any farther on that front yet. So we're going to do this case. Because that's something that we can actually do right now."

"If there even _is_ a case." He looks to Dean.

"Oh my God! Just let it go! We'll find out soon enough!"

Sam smirks at the rise he got out of his brother, turning back to his window.

They get a hotel near the area that the hikers disappeared, right at the edge of town. It's a remote town. Few people, fewer visitors. The man at the front counter gives them distrusting looks but hands over the key to their room.

"Why have a hotel if you don't like visitors?" Dean asks with a roll of his eyes as they leave the office.

Sam snorts. "Notice it's the only one? We're out in the middle of nowhere. Just be glad they have one."

Dean gives him a glare over his shoulder as he unlocks the room.

It's just like the rest of them, nothing special about the horrendous décor. Ugly wall paper. Ugly bedspread. Ugly carpet. At least this one seems a little more clean. No weird stains on the carpet. Or on the bed. That's always a plus.

"Alright. Talk to the locals for the rest of today, and tomorrow we go check out the woods," Dean mutters as he drops his bags on his bed.

Sam frowns. "You want to go waltzing into the woods where people supposedly disappeared without knowing what's out there?"

Dean waves him off. "We'll be fine. Go in the day."

Sam sits at the table and opens the laptop to the article Dean had open earlier to show him. "Dean, they disappeared during the day."

Dean rolls his eyes. "No, they went into the woods during the day and never returned. If it were a creature or something it would have attacked at night. Usually."

Sam sighs. "Whatever."

Dean watches him out of the corner of his eye as the unpacks his own bag. Goes through his weapons. What he always does when they get to a new place. Just like Sam always sits down with his laptop. Or newspaper articles and research about the case. But today… nothing is really normal. "Are we going to talk about what's going on here?"

"No."

And that's something. At least he acknowledged that there_ is_ something. The fact that it's Dean asking if they should talk, and Sam saying no… it's a little messed up. Not like their lives are ever _not _messed up. But he gives up for today. If Sam doesn't want to talk, he's not getting anything out of him.

They ask a few questions around town. Relations to the disappearances. Try to get a feel for how this could have happened and if it's ever happened before. By the end, even Sam is admitting to himself that the chances of all five people, with the supplies and experience they had, disappearing are slim to none. A lot of the locals are already thinking about bear attacks. Or cougars. There's a lot of both.

When they're done with the job, neither of them speak for the rest of the night. Eventually, it goes from strained and angry, to relaxed and tired. When they go to bed, it's Sam that ends up laying on his back, eyes staring at the tiny bit of light from outside on the blank ceiling. He hasn't slept much lately. This is nothing new. But tonight…

It's not because he's psychic. _Used_ to be psychic. He just feels like… there's something ominous going on. Maybe it's the hunt. Maybe it's the tension between him and Dean. Not like either of them are helping in that matter. There's just _something_ that is getting to Sam. Chewing him from the inside out. When he's honest with himself, sometimes he can figure out what the monster that's trying to claw it's way out of him wants.

He can ignore it during the day. When he's too focused on the hunt, sleeping in the car, keeping Dean from reading it on his face. But at night… He hasn't slept more than three hours a night in a very long time. Not that Amelia ever knew that. Not like Dean knows. Of course… who's ever noticed anything about him?

Everyone has always noticed Dean. When they walk into a bar, eyes always land on Dean first. There's just something about him that demands attention. Whether it's sexual or for someone to realize they should be wary of him. But Sam… sure, he gets attention, but not like Dean. And Dean himself has left Sam to his own devices lately, more distant than ever.

Amelia always slept peacefully. And she'd let it go when he answered her questions about the bags under his eyes with excuses. She was just starting to get comfortable with him. But not enough to push her way into his many complications yet. And Dean sleeps like the dead. Even when he doesn't, he never comments on Sam's recent nocturnal behavior. And maybe that's what's eating at him. Dean doesn't… care.

He slips out of the motel room for the millionth time, never having gotten undressed. He goes to sit on the impala, trying to get some air into his lungs that seem to be rebelling recently. He constantly feels like there's a fist around them, squeezing them. It had gotten better when Dean got back. For a little bit. But then it seemed to get worse.

He doesn't eat much either. Never eaten as much as Dean. But recently… he tries not to examine how many times he's skipped meals. Or ordered food for Dean and pushed it over without unburying himself from his research. Not even feeling a rumble in his stomach. Like he doesn't even have the urge to eat. He ate when Dean got back. Felt good enough to. But after that night, the disappointment in Dean's eyes… He hasn't done more than pick at his food.

"_Did you look for me Sam?"_

There was a lot Sam wanted to reply to that. Almost did. Barely said what was going through his head, and didn't even care anymore when Dean cut him off. He could have kept going. Kept trying to explain. But what good would that do? Dean would never understand. Didn't care to understand.

He thinks back a lot lately to when he got his soul back. How at first, he thought the way Dean stared at him was because he had just come back from hell. How when he could so frequently feel Dean's eyes on him, it was his brother reassuring himself that Sam was really back. When he found out that he'd been back a lot longer, he got confused.

He eventually figured it out though. How Dean would look at him when he did or said certain things. Like he was shocked that he did them. Like he still expected Sam to be that… heartless thing he was before. That's when he started noticing the actual look Dean was giving him when he stared.

What he wouldn't give to have that again. That was the first time since Dean sold his soul for him that he felt that loved. Not that he'd ever call Dean on it. But it was incredible, that feeling. Like he was the center of Dean's universe again. He basked in the glow. Now? Now he wondered how long it would take before Dean ditched his sorry ass. Who wanted a brother who didn't even try to look for them when they disappeared?

"_People don't just disappear, Dean. Other people just stop looking for them."_

Nausea over takes him. He barely stumbles away from the impala and around the side of the building before he's retching up what little he had picked off his salad during dinner. Sometimes he hates the way his brain dredges up memories at the worst times. Shame bubbles up at the remembrance of his own words from so long ago and he wonders if this is what it feels like to hate oneself completely. Probably.

He's hated himself before. This is completely different. There's no redeeming himself for this. Maybe that's why he can't make that digging feeling go away. Why he feels that eventually, it's all going to come to a head and its not going to end well. Because why would he ever get anything he wants?

Throat still burning, rancid taste in his mouth, he knows right now that he should probably start preparing himself. Dean will eventually leave him. Probably to go find Benny, who still hasn't let Dean down even half the number of times Sam has. And then he'll be alone again.

He wonders sometimes why he doesn't just give up. After all, he's been broken so many times, even Jess wouldn't want him now. She never did know who he really was anyway. If she knew how damaged he was even back then, behind the mask, she'd have left him ages before Dean showed up. But Dean did show up, and Sam wonders how many times Dean regrets that.

"_I can't do this alone."_

"_Yes you can."_

"_Yeah well, I don't want to."_

He wonders if Dean would have said that if he knew what was going to happen because of Sam later. He doubts it.

He never does go back into the motel room.

* * *

When Dean wakes up to Sam's empty bed, he ignores it. Sam is a grown man. He can damn well do as he pleases now. _Especially if he can live without Dean_. The bitter thought makes its way out before he can help it. He shrugs it off. Sure, he's bitter. He figures he has a right to be.

He goes through his morning routine, raising an eyebrow at the still empty room after he gets his shower and is about to go out the door for breakfast. When he walks out to see Sam sitting on the hood of the backed-in impala, he frowns. Then pushes it way. "If you want me to go get breakfast, you're gonna have to move."

Sam snorts, but the humorless edge to it pokes at Dean's brain. He pushes that away too. He watches as Sam gracefully pushes himself off the hood, taking care not to slide or use his shoes too much. He has a mostly empty water bottle in his hand. The wrapper is picked off.

"How long you been out here?" he finally asks.

Sam shrugs. "Not long."

Dean's not sure he believes him. But he nods anyway, climbing into the impala and going off for breakfast.

Sam makes his way back into the hotel room, finishing the last of the water before throwing the bottle away. He brushes his teeth before he showers, making his gums bleed with the vigorous way he tries to get the acidic taste from his mouth. Like washing away the leftover bile would make his realization go away. It doesn't, of course.

In the shower, he stands under the too hot water until his skin is tinged in red. Lets the steaming water loosen his muscles though they refuse to really relax. When he finally motivates himself to get out, he goes through his routine out of habit, not really caring how he looks. Today is going to be one of those days. Good thing they won't be around other people today.

Though some things are better since Dean came back, others are worse. He's starting to fray at the edges with the way things are with them. It's always hurt when Dean is so passive about him. Lately though… Dean doesn't even care. He could tell that Dean didn't believe him that he hadn't been outside too long. But Dean didn't care to ask. Just dismissed it.

It's not like he expects Dean to go all chick-flicky. He knows that's not how his brother works. But Dean usually at least pries. Tries to find out why Sam would say something that wasn't true. It just makes that hopeless feeling come back. That Dean doesn't even care if Sam is falling apart.

Dean comes back with breakfast and starts explaining why he thinks they should go to the woods today. Not wanting to start an argument, Sam doesn't fight it. Just packs his gear and heads out. And if Dean never notices that Sam doesn't eat any of the donuts he brought, well at least it keeps Sam from having to explain why his stomach is so sick.


	2. Chapter 2

**Long overdue update. Thanks to the loyal ones. Welcome new readers. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**Ch. 2**

Dean parks the Impala off the road in the back parking lot of an old crumbled building. It might have been a store at some time. They both grab their bags, slinging them over their shoulders, and head off into the woods. The sun is shining. It's a mild day of about seventy degrees. Somehow it still feels ominous.

They take turns deciding which way to go. When to follow the trail and when to look off of it a ways. The trails of the group would have gone cold by now, but depending on if they were taken or killed, there could be a sign somewhere. Since the rescue team had practically dismissed the fears of their family, it's pretty safe to say they didn't search too seriously.

It's six hours deep into the forest that Sam sighs. Loudly. "So when are we going to turn back? We'll already be out after dark."

"Not turning back."

"I knew it," Sam mutters through his teeth. "So what? We stay out here without even knowing what we're hunting for? It's going to be hunting us better than we'll be hunting it."

Dean waves him off. "If it's a werewolf, I have silver bullets. If' it's a wendigo, I have a few flares. I have silver, I have holy water, I have salt, I have every damn think you can think of. So just give it a rest."

Sam is stung by the harsh tone. Not feeling like he deserved that much hatred directed at him. At least not today. He's kept his complaining to a minimum. He hasn't whined about food. Not like he's actually hungry. He doesn't show his hurt though, covers it up with a scowl and keeps walking.

It's another two hours later that Sam finally feels some of the tension draining and feels like he can talk without getting his head bit off or keeping a grudge. Mostly, it's because of the sudden change. "Maybe them disappearing in the middle of the day isn't so far-fetched."

Dean looks to him, eyebrows pulled together. "Why the change of heart?"

"Listen."

Neither move. Dean strains to hear. "What?"

"Exactly. Where did the birds go? The squirrels? There's nothing making a sound around here." Sam starts looking around them.

Dean touches the gun at his back for reassurance.

"I think we should search this area."

Dean nods.

They go off opposite sides of the trail. They're both as silent as the woods around them. In an almost unspoken agreement, they don't speak or call to each other. For a little over a half hour, they just look. Searching for signs of people. Signs of a struggle. Blood. Something.

It's Sam who stumbles across the tiny clearing. Walking right up to the edge of it without even realizing it. Barely glimpses a second of a building as his eyes scan around. The leaves are thick here. Almost woven together. He pries open only a tiny hole to look through. Then sighs.

He makes it back to the trail pretty quickly, then lets out a bird-like whistle. It wouldn't fool avid bird watchers, but it usually doesn't catch the attention of the average person. Except for Dean. He barely waits five minutes before his brother makes it to the trail.

Sam just jerks his head and turns away.

Dean follows. When Sam has him look through the thick brush, he huffs. "Well. That's not weird at all."

"Nope," Sam murmurs. "And just the place where tired hikers would want to go to rest and not watch out for bears or other wild animals."

"Or could have been forced here. Like that hillbilly family in-"

"We agreed to never bring that up again," Sam interrupts, shuddering.

Dean rolls his eyes. Pulling the gun out of the back of his jeans, he checks it and puts it back. Then he pulls his bag around. "So… front door or back door?"

Sam looks at him incredulously.

"What?"

"Are you trying to be stupid or are you just that crazy?"

Dean's whole face darkens.

Sam regrets it instantly. Tries to cover it up. "I just… Dean, we have no idea what's going on here. It could be anything. Is it that bad just to be a little careful?"

Dean doesn't answer, just looks through the branches again. Then snorts. "No time to be careful."

Sam sighs. "Dean we have plenty of-"

"Look." It's a growl. Dean's had enough.

Sam sighs again, but looks. "Well that's just great."

Two hikers are walking through the clearing now, hesitant, but curious about the house in the middle of nowhere. It's a guy and a girl, back packs on and filled with things that could probably last them a few days out here. In fact…

"They're friends of one of the families," Sam groans.

"How do you know?"

"I recognize them. They were in a picture the family was showing of a past camping trip. They were out of town so they couldn't go on the last one."

"So this is the first time they've found the clearing," Dean guesses. "Look. They aren't sure what to think about such a weird open space."

Sam nods. "Well… what do we do?"

"Stop them from going into the house." Dean pushes through the brush. "Hey!"

Sam sighs, following a second later.

The couple has frozen halfway to the house, the man standing more in front of the woman. He speaks up first. "Who are you?" With such few visitors in this town, it's easy for him to pick out the two brothers as not from around here.

Sam speaks up. "I'm Sam, this is Dean. We're here to look into the ownership of this house."

Dean nods. "We're from the state police." He pulls out one of the many badges he has on him, flashing it before putting it away. "We've had reports on this house and it's never been recorded as being owned by anyone. Or existing for that matter."

"So we're going to have to ask you to leave," Sam finishes. He's mentally congratulating themselves for coming up with this story so quickly. Hopes they won't ask too many questions. There are only so many gaps they could fill.

The woman frowns, stepping out from behind the man. "I'm Ally, this is my husband Darren. You're telling me you aren't here to look into the disappearances of our friends?"

"Until they've been missing for a certain amount of time, we don't have jurisdiction," Dean answers.

"They've been missing for a week!"

Darren puts a hand to his wife's shoulders.

"Technically, they've been missing for two days," Dean answers.

Sam glares at Dean, then looks back at them. "I apologize for my partner. But he is right. We don't have jurisdiction until it's filed as a serious missing persons."

Ally huffs. "Well, we're going to check that house. They could be hurt. Or…"

Darren slides his arm around her shoulders when she trails off. "Once we check it, we'll leave," he clarifies.

Dean crosses his arms. "Look, we don't know what this house is doing out here. You stay here, we'll look inside, and we'll let you know if we find any sign that your friends could have been here. Okay?"

"Look, it's for your own safety," Sam implores.

Ally huffs, waves them off, and crosses her arms.

Sam nods his thanks, shoving Dean towards the house with his shoulder before he can say anything else. "If you want people to listen to you, you need to be more civil," he hisses.

"That's why I keep you around, Francis," Dean grumbles.

Sam feels a slight sting at that. He knows his brother didn't mean that's the _only_ reason he keeps him around. Right?

Dean tries the doorknob first, raising his eyebrows and turning to Sam when it opens without trouble. Not locked. "Well, at least no one alive is living here right now." He goes inside.

Sam follows, somewhat hesitantly. "Dean, we don't know-"

"Exactly. We don't know. Just give it a rest, already. The likelihood of a spirit manifesting itself during the day is extremely low. If that's even what it is."

Sam grits his teeth. "We have maybe a half hour until the sun is gone," he hisses. "We can't stay in here without more information."

"Well keep me posted on the sunset time." He walks away without a look back.

It's been a long time since things were this bad between them. Since the last time Dean decided he didn't give a crap about what Sam said. It's bad enough to make Sam cringe now, wondering how in the world he'll ever get on Dean's good side again. If that's even possible. How does one say 'Sorry, I didn't rescue you from Purgatory'?

_You don't. _His stomach rolls. Makes him nauseous enough to be glad he hasn't eaten anything. It takes him a minute to breathe. Wait for his stomach to settle. He wouldn't have anything to hack up anyway. But sometimes it sure does try. He moves further into the house.

There's the typical layer of dust covering everything. The house itself is fairly modern. Maybe 50 years old or so. Ancient TV in the living room. But even then… Sam's eyes move over the room, frowning. This isn't much of a home. Oh, sure it has everything most houses do. But… it's very detached. No pictures on the wall. No sort of indication as to what type of person lived here. A house, not a home.

He moves through to the back hallway, eyes zeroing on the stairs. He's very aware of Dean in the next room over, but doesn't really feel like having his head bit off again. He goes up the stairs himself. There's no sign of blood anywhere. No real sign of struggle. In a house this old, there's bound to be things broken or fallen over. Looking in the rooms upstairs, he sees much of what you'd expect in an abandoned house. Things kind of just… left where they are.

Dean appears behind him as he turns away from another room. "EMF isn't even going off." He holds out the silent device.

"It isn't dark yet," Sam sighs.

"This is probably just and old abandoned house."

Sam shrugs, going back down the stairs. "We don't know that yet."

"Are you arguing just to argue with me?"

Sam stops at the bottom of the stairs. "No, Dean! I'm just trying to keep everything open here!" He looks up at his brother on the step above him. A weird occurrence, this looking-up thing. "We don't know anything, and your acting like there's nothing to worry about! But something that could make all of those hikers disappear is a huge problem!"

Dean looms over Sam, making him step back so he can step down onto the floor. "I know it is, Sam! That's why _I _dragged us here. I did. Not you. So I know there's a problem. But I'm handling it like we always do. I'm doing what I can to find out information."

"By putting yourself in danger?"

"Oh like you care."

Sam's mouth, open in ready for his next retort, snaps shut with an audible click. Inside his chest, he swears he can feel a knife twist before all emotion floods out of him. There's too much to even process, so he just shuts down. Turns around and walks back through the hallway to the living room before Dean can say anything worse.

Dean stays where he is for a second, knowing he crossed a line. That no matter how much he doesn't understand why his brother didn't get him out of purgatory, what he just said was not supposed to be spoken aloud. It just slipped. Some thoughts, true or not, shouldn't ever be spoken aloud.

One tiny part of him though, the hurt and angry part, is almost satisfied. Dean tries to keep that part from controlling his actions. He knows there are so many things he could say to hurt Sam. Knows exactly what buttons to push. Comes with growing up with someone. But he should know better than to say things that could get Sam angry with him during a hunt like this.

He finally goes down the hall, hearing voices as he approaches the living room. When he gets to the kitchen, he lets out a sigh. "I thought we told you to wait outside."

Ally looks to him from around Sam. "We just wanted to help. Besides, I'd know if anything here was from our friends."

Dean sighs. "Well?"

She shakes her head sadly. "Nothing. At least not down here."

Running a hand over his face, Dean sighs again. "Want to check upstairs?"

They go upstairs again, following the couple and waiting as they look through the bedrooms. Sam still hasn't said a word, jaw clenched but face almost blank. Dean doesn't talk either, not really wanting to start another fight with the couple in hearing distance. Not like he wants to talk at all. But the look on Sam's face makes him nervous. Brings a few chills from Robo Sam time back. He looks back to the searching couple, only to look back at Sam when his brother's shoulders tense up next to him.

"We should get you guys out of here. We don't really know what's going on." Sam's voice is tense. Urgent.

Dean frowns in question. Then he notices how dark the house has gotten. They're only just now seeing it because of being by west-facing windows, the sun had more time to make it into the house. Now though, light is rapidly fading. "C'mon guys. Your friends weren't here."

Alley sighs, taking one last look around the bedroom. "I was hoping…"

"I'm sorry," Sam interrupts, puppy eyes in full force but voice still tense, "but we really should get you guys out of here. Out of the woods. This house poses new questions and could get your friends an investigation." Sam feels bad for lying, but figures if it saves their life, its better than letting them get hurt if something happens to this house at night.

Dean goes down the stairs first, leading the way as Sam takes up the rear. It's a tall staircase. Two different sections. A longer set of stairs to a small square that has the next smaller section going up from the corner of the wall to the left. A typical staircase for a tall house. But it makes for a longer walk down, going around the corner than if it were one straight set of stairs. That tiny little detail is what hurts them, because as soon as they reach the hallway leading to the front door, the sunlight disappears.

Dean swears, going quickly to the front door, intending to usher the couple out so he and Sam can get ready in case the place is haunted. But the door doesn't budge. The handle doesn't even move. "Son of a bitch." He didn't think _this _would happen. He turns around, looking right at Sam.

Sam, to his credit, doesn't blow up and scare the poor couple. He takes one look at Dean's face, looks to the still unopened door, and gives him a pretty scathing sneer before going to their duffels where they left them in the living room.

"What's going on? I thought we were leaving." Ally feels the tension in the air. Looks to the door. "What's wrong with the door?"

Darren yanks her back when Sam comes back into the room with his and Dean's sawed offs. "What the hell-"

"Look," Dean interrupts, "we don't have time to ease you into this. Long story short? We aren't getting out of here. Not until we find out what's going on in this house. It may or may not be related to your friends. But something is keeping us here." He looks to Sam as he finishes loading his gun. "Salt?"

'You've got the last bottle in your duffel. I'll have to check the kitchen." He leaves again, muttering under his breath.

Dean watches him go before looking to the two still on the other side of the hallway. Then he follows Sam. "Great. It's like the Morton House all over again."


	3. Chapter 3

**Ch. 3**

"Woah, hold up!" Darren follows Dean into the living room, keeping himself between the brothers and Ally. He doesn't like the weirdness of this situation. And he's suspicious of the two 'police men'. Nothing is making sense. "What is going on here?"

"This house is probably abandoned because someone died here," Sam answers, coming back with a thing of salt from the kitchen, flashlight in hand. He flicks it on, shining it about the room. Then he starts creating a line of salt on the floor through the archway. "That's why we tried to keep you out."

Ally connects the dots. "You think this place is haunted? Seriously?"

"We _know_ it is. Now, anyway," Sam answers. No use trying to ease them into it. Better to throw it at them right away. Being trapped in the house is bad. Very bad. He's still not over the Morton house. He salts the single window in the room while Dean gets the other archway. Then walks over to his duffel and starts digging. "You have matches?"

Dean snorts, pulling out his own flashlight and testing it before going back to digging. "Keep your pansy ass matches. I've got my zippo."

"You fill it?"

"I always fill it, Sam," Dean growls.

Sam grits his teeth. "I was just wondering. We've had that issue before. Get off my back, Dean."

Ally raises her eyebrows at them. "You guys always like this?"

The 'Yes!' is simultaneous.

She gives Darren an amused look. Then focuses back on the tense men. "So… you obviously aren't police…"

"He's my brother," Dean huffs. "Unfortunately."

Sam flinches where he is, unseen behind Dean's back. He grits his teeth against the burn in his chest. He forces himself to not go into one of his panic attacks, clenching his shaking hands and swallowing convulsively to keep the bile down. God, that hurts.

Ally winces in sympathy when she sees Sam's reaction. She wants to go over and console Sam, soft thing he seems to be, but figures he doesn't want Dean to know his reaction if his straightening of his shoulders and the blanking of his face before he turns around says anything. These boys are obviously hurting in their relationship. She wonders what happened.

"We're here to look into why people keep disappearing in these woods," Sam speaks up after a minute, voice a little shaky. "This is kind of what we do. All over the country. You'd be surprised how many ghosts there are out there."

Dean hears the waver in Sam's voice, wincing at the comment he knows hurt his brother before he turns around to the couple. "You guys stay behind the salt line. You get me? We need to check the place out."

Darren glares at the salt. "_That_ is going to keep us safe?"

Sam sighs tiredly, lifting his hand in a calming gesture. "Just… trust us." He leaves the room, armed with his sawed off and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Dean almost opens his mouth to call his brother back. Almost. Instead, he grumbles to himself as he throws his duffel over his shoulder. He hands Darren his container of salt. "Just trust us on this. We'll be back. Stay inside the salt."

Shouldering his gun, he starts through the hallway. He shines his flashlight about him. Geeze these hallways are dark after the sun sets. And Sam has already disappeared. He decides to head upstairs, only half hoping to run into Sam. He really doesn't want to have this out during the job. But Sam seems to always get him talking at the worst times.

He goes into the first bedroom he sees. Something that keeps surprising him is the lack of personal things in this house. Even in this bedroom there are no pictures, no books, no trinkets on the little bit of furniture in the room. Just a bed left unmade, a dresser with clothes in it, and a layer of dust covering everything.

"What kind of person were you?" Dean murmurs to himself. Looks under the bed. Through the dresser. Nothing. Nothing useful anyway. On to the next room.

It surprises him how big this house is. Being in the middle of the woods and all. So many hallways, doorways, rooms. Must have taken forever to build. Looking it over, finally taking the architecture into account, he finds that none of it is done as a hired contractor would build it. After working as a construction worker when he lived with Lisa, he notices a few things.

Nails are visible in some areas. When he looks closely the doorway seems a little slanted. The ceiling is nearly professional, but warping in some areas. As the roof, this ceiling is left open to show the structure beams. He's actually a little impressed.

"Someone built this house on their own," he murmurs to himself. He frowns. But was it their ghost, or someone before? It's hard to tell. He goes back into the hallway. Looks at all the rooms. Looks like it used to be a big family. Who knows what happened to them all. Maybe moved away. Maybe went crazy, seeing as how there's a troubled ghost hanging around.

He goes into another bedroom. This one more personal than the others. Obviously the bedroom of an old lady. Quilt on the bed. Knitting needles left on the dresser next to it. Glasses on the nightstand. Books in the bookshelf. Dean looks through the picture frames. An older woman seen with her son in one. Other family members in others. One with what he can only assume is her husband. "So they built the house," he murmurs. Looks around. Age looks about right. New, but not ancient anyway.

So was it the woman or the man who started killing people? Looking around at the hints of usual old woman activities, he doesn't think it could have been her. He starts to dig in some of the drawers. Look through the bookshelf for a notebook or diary. Nothing. He moves on to another room.

* * *

Finding the stairs behind the first door he opened, Sam shrugged to himself. Why not? This way he could stay out of Dean's way for a while. Closing the door behind him might not have been the best idea, but he needs a minute away from Dean. It's getting a little hard to breathe.

The stairs are old, but surprisingly quiet. No creepy creaking under his feet. It's dark and musty like most basements are and there are a lot of boxes around. He shines his flashlight around the huge area. Looks under the stairs and looking in a few of the boxes only turns up useless trinkets that no one has probably cared about for years before the owners of this house even disappeared.

There's a soft sound behind him and he turns around. Nothing. No one. He frowns. "Dean?" It's a soft inquiry. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and he grips his gun. He isn't usually this… nervous. But there's something about the basement. And it isn't the usual stereotype. He's been through many haunted houses that the basement didn't act as the main area for the ghost.

He keeps looking around the basement as much as he can without checking over his shoulder a million times. Tries to find something that would indicate that something bad happened here. But he doesn't find anything. Something though… something about it is bugging him.

He looks over the walls, the floor. There's some wear around one of the walls. He frowns. Walking over to it, he toes the area, but nothing about it really screams 'suspicious'. It could have easily been a piece of furniture that was dragged from the spot, making those marks on the floor.

He looks at it for a little while longer. Looks at the wall. Something… He knows there's a reason it's bugging him. Knows that if the wall moved, if it were pushed out, it would make those marks. The deep, wearing creases in the cement might very well be made only by another cement surface dragging across it. Maybe he should get Dean. It wouldn't be the first time they'd found a wall hiding a secret room.

It's on his way back to the stairs that he suddenly feels a presence behind him. He spins around, bringing his shotgun up. It meets something solid and he barely has time to get a glimpse in of a pretty sturdy body before his head snaps back and his jaw erupts in pain. Both his gun and his flashlight clatter to the floor, an eerie glow shining about the shape towering over him.

His head slams against the banister at the end of the stairs on his way to the ground, black spots shooting across his vision as he lets out a pained cry. He barely keeps his head from cracking against the cement floor too. He fights the blackness trying to overtake him as long as possible, but it gets harder and harder to keep his eyes open. The pain shooting through his skull is intense, the dull throbbing making it harder to _want_ to stay awake.

When he suddenly feels himself being pulled by his feet, he rolls over to scrabble weakly at the floor before he gets kicked in his side. The sharp sound that rips its way out of his throat is his last attempt at a cry for help.

The last thing he's aware of is the frantic cry of his name, so quiet he wonders if he's imagining it.

* * *

Dean hits the bottom of the stairs, looking around for his brother. "Sam!"

Ally runs out of the living room, Darren not far behind. "What happened? We heard yelling."

Dean curses. "Sam!" If Sam isn't answering him, something is very wrong. He knows that the cry he heard was his brother.

"What the hell is going on?" Darren growls.

"It took my brother, that's what's going on!" Dean starts opening doors, searching for where his brother could have disappeared to. He starts to get frantic when all he finds are more closets or hallways to other rooms. "What does anyone need with so many damn doors?" Dean grumbles.

"A ghost, you mean?" Darren asks, still skeptical.

Dean stops, turning to glare at him. "Yes. A ghost. And not a very friendly one at that. So if you want to live, you should start taking that seriously."

Ally holds her hands out, soothingly. "Look, this is all new to us. We need something other than your say so to prove that you aren't crazy."

Dean sighs, running a hand over his face. "I need to find Sam," he groans.

"We'll help you look. Meanwhile, be patient with us if we don't necessarily believe the reason we're stuck in this house."

Dean nods, striding to another door. This time, it's another room. Not a closet. Walking softly in, he shines his light around the room. Looking for some sign that his brother was here. What he finds instead, is an old office. No Sam, but something catches his eye. Walking over, he flips through some manila folders laying out on the desk.

Scanning through the contents, he lets out another curse. "Ally. Darren."

They walk over to him, looking at the contents of each folder as he goes through them and lays them out. When he's done, five main sheets sit out. A short newspaper article of each one, a picture accompanying it. "Was this before your time?" he asks.

"We were very little," Ally answers. "I just remember my mom and dad not being very happy with me going out to play during that time. Especially near the outskirts of town."

Darren nods. "Now we know that they disappeared. Cops couldn't find anything to indicate where they'd gone or who took them. And none of them had anything in common."

Dean looks over the newspaper articles. None of them are about abductions. They're about crimes. "So these people were all taken? They disappeared?" He picks one of the articles up.

Ally nods. "That's not what the articles say?"

Dean shakes his head. "They all had one thing in common. They were all criminals to an extent." He puts the one he's holding, down. "This one was just released from hit and run charges." He points to another. "This one was suspected of rape out on parole because the charges never stuck."

Ally frowns. "And they were all abducted. But by who?"

Dean looks to her. "My bet? The person who lived here."


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for sticking around guys! I know I'm moving slowly with this one. Mostly because I got hit with another idea in the middle of this so there may be another new story up soon.**

**I appreciate the comments and hope you like the new chapter! :)**

* * *

**Ch. 4**

He wasn't out for long. He can feel that much. He isn't groggy when he wakes up. He snaps awake, eyes immediately scanning his surroundings. His head is pounding. He can feel the dampness of blood against his neck and more dripping down his temple where it had rolled forward as his head hung down while he was out. It's probably a nasty gash.

His eyes move around the dimly lit room, lit only by a single oil lamp sitting on a table just to his left. His eyes move over to the right, and at the sight of the dark figure standing by a table in the corner, he moves to get away. That's when he finds how much of a situation he's in.

Looking up to see the old fashioned metal cuffs around his wrists, his stomach plummets. They're the kind that are imbedded in the wall, no chains that could have maybe been broken. There's no escaping from these, so tight around his wrists there'd be no way he could pull his hands out without breaking all of the bones in them.

His feet barely touch the ground, his toes the only thing keeping his shoulders from feeling the pull on his arms now that he's awake. He is stretched out, completely at the mercy of his captor. It's that realization, the vulnerability, that really sends ice down his spine.

"Ah, you're awake."

Sam looks back to the man, whole body tensing when he sees the knife in his hands. "Stay away from me."

The man moves forward, glitching a couple of times. "Let's see how much _you_ can take. Hmmm?"

Sam presses back against the wall, one question echoing through his head. _Why does this always happen to me?_

* * *

"Dude! Forget your brother! Let's find a way out of here!"

Worry and rage brings Dean's fist around to knock the guy to the ground.

Darren groans from his place on the floor as he puts a hand to his bleeding lip.

"Say anything else to me and I'll kill you myself," Dean growls dangerously. He turns without a backwards glance and stalks off, leaving Ally to take care of her boyfriend. He needs to find Sam.

Ally looks down to Darren. "You're a jerk," she hisses, helping him up.

He sighs. "Sorry. I just want us to get out of here."

"Don't you think he wants that too? But his brother is missing. We aren't leaving without him."

Darren frowns. "Everyone else who's gone missing never came back. And if this is really the reason why, Sam's as good as dead now too. Doesn't he see that? He says he knows about this stuff…"

Ally cuts him off. "Would you try to find me?"

That makes him wince. "You know I would."

She nods once. "Then what's the difference?"

He runs a hand over his face, putting his arm around her to lead her towards Dean's flashlight heading down the hall. It's safer to stick together. "It's his brother, Al, not the love of his life."

Ally huffs out a laugh. "Just because you hate your brother, doesn't mean it's like that for everyone. Couldn't you see that before? Even though they were at each other's throats earlier, he's used to protecting his younger brother. He's frantic with worry. Then you had to go and suggest leaving him here to die…"

Darren sighs. "Alright. I get it. Still. It's a little weird, don't you think? That they can't seem function on their own. They're grown men."

Ally rolls her eyes. "Guys. Clueless."

Darren huffs in annoyance. "I'm not clueless. I just think that-"

"They don't have anyone else." Ally looks up to him as she stops walking. "They fight these things by themselves. On the road all the time, apparently. Don't you think you'd want a companion that you trust your life with? On top of that, they're brothers. That's quite a few layers of trust mixed with love. That can get pretty intense."

He raises an eyebrow at her.

She rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean. In short, they'd die for each other. Even _I_ could see that in the little time we've known them. Beneath the normal brotherly tension, there's a lifelong companion thing going on."

Darren nudges her to keep walking. "Alright. I get it. They're BFFs. Let's help him look. Happy?"

She huffs out an exasperated laugh. "Yes." She jogs to catch up to Dean. "Do you have an extra flashlight?"

* * *

His hair is plastered to his face, mostly by sweat. But blood sure has a thing to do with it too, now that there's a new gash across the other side of his temple where his captor had lost his patience. His shirt is long gone. There are gashes across his chest. Down his arms. Bruises across his ribs.

It took him a minute to start to figure out the mind of his captor. Trying to figure out what's making this ghost tick. Through the pain, it's really hard to keep his thoughts coherent. And as the blood loss hits, it get's even harder to stay conscious. Once, when he got hit excruciatingly in his stomach, he even attempted to throw up the non-existent contents of said stomach.

That had gotten the ghost's attention, weirdly enough. Just a quiet, "Interesting…" before he had placed his hands against Sam's ribs. Fingers lightly running over the more prominent bones.

It made him shiver, from fear and also feeling a little… dirty. He's never been good with stranger's hands touching him like that.

"I wonder how that will affect you," the man had murmured. And then he had disappeared. Flickered out like he finally couldn't stay around any longer.

He's been hanging here since. Feeling the blood drip off his chin. Down his chest. Trying to stay conscious or find a way to get out of these cuffs, as impossible as it seems. He suddenly feels a presence in front of him and his head snaps up, fearing the worst. His eyes widen. "Please." Nothing else. Just, "Please."

The man doesn't answer. Just glitches once. Then he's gone.

Sam hangs his head. It's barely minutes before the next round starts. More blood rolls.

* * *

They haven't found anything useful. Not in the kitchen or the living room. Not in the library they had finally found. It's obvious the original members of the family were rich. How else would they be able to afford all of the wood to build this place.? And everything in it. The library itself is extensive. The house still seems bigger than it looked on the outside.

Walking down to the very end of the hall, Darren opens that door. He gasps. "Dean."

"What?"

"The door."

Dean frowns. "What about it?" Turning, his eyes widen.

"It's open," Ally answers needlessly.

And it is. The door opened without a fight for Darren. And it's not a closet. It's to the outdoors, showing the tightly woven trees in the distance.

"Why…?" Darren trails off.

"He has a captive," Dean breathes, pained. "His focus is on Sam." He looks to them. "Go. Now."

Ally shakes her head. "No way."

Dean snarls. "Get out of here while you can!"

Darren steps forward. "We aren't going to leave you to look for your brother alone," he insists. He shrugs at Dean's shocked look. "Call it guilty conscience."

"You don't have to-"

"We want to," Ally cuts in. "You guys tried to keep us out of here. And now they've taken Sam. We're helping you." She closes the door.

Dean looks to her, face finally softening at her look of determination. "Thanks. Thank you."

She shrugs. "I'm just glad to see you do actually care for him."

Dean grimaces, hand running over his face as he thinks over the past two days. All the times he snipped at Sam and his harsh, untrue comments. "No. I… I care. I just…"

She holds up her hand, taking Darren's in her other one before turning to look through the hall. "No need to explain. I'm just glad you two aren't always the vicious dogs we saw in the living room earlier."

Dean chuckles hollowly. "We are actually. Well… not that bad. But we… we argue a lot."

"Arguing isn't bad," Darren says wryly. "Ally and I do it all the time."

Ally smiles up at him. Then looks to Dean. "The key is to listen to the other side. Make sure you know how you can fix it. It isn't always the other person's fault."

"I blame him for things a lot," Dean allows. "And I don't always listen to his excuses. Er… reasons. And I guess it's just hard to talk things through when that's not really how I feel comfortable."

Darren chuckles. "I get that. So you guys have your little chit-chat. I'll go look somewhere else."

Dean chuckles. Hands Darren his shotgun. "Keep your eyes peeled."

Darren nods, walking off.

Ally turns back to Dean. "Darren doesn't like to talk about feelings too. And he doesn't listen very well when we get into arguments about things. We're working on it, but I think you and Sam need to have a sit down talk."

Dean nods. Scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah. I know."

They're quiet as they turn to the last unchecked door. And of course, it's the one. Dean knows it is. The stairs going down into the black basement sends a shiver up his spine. This has to be where Sam went. Why his voice was so faint. "Damnit, Sam. Why would you go down into the basement by yourself?" he mutters.

"How do you know he did?" Ally asks as she follows Dean down.

"It's the farthest away from me," Dean sighs. "The one to outside wouldn't have budged, so he'd go to this one. He went exactly where he knew I wouldn't follow." He shines his flashlight around the room. Kicks something. Looking down, he sighs when he sees Sam's flashlight. "Damnit, Sam," he hisses again. He crouches down to pick it up. His light hits something out of the corner of his eye. A color. Red. "Shit."

Ally follows the beam, staring at the bright red puddle on the floor. "Is that..."

Dean stands, shining his light around to find an almost unending line of red. He follows it, and swallows a pathetic whine when it ends at a wall. "What the hell?"

Ally points to the scuff marks with her toe. "The wall. You think it moves?"

Dean looks to her. "Not bad." He hands his flashlight to her, running his hands over the wall. Feeling for the crack. He eventually finds it, his short nails sinking into a little divot in the wall. "Right here," he murmurs mostly to himself. He plants two hands right at the edge before the crack, bending his knees and digging his feet into the ground before he starts to push.

Ally rolls her eyes, letting Dean struggle by himself for a moment before deciding to take pity on him and help him out. Besides, Sam could be waiting behind this wall. Not really time for a lesson in asking for help.

With Ally's help, the door finally starts to budge. "Push," Dean grits out.

She digs her toes into the ground, but decides turning around would be better. Pushing her back flat against the wall, she digs her heels in and starts pushing with all her might. Glad or her love of running, she starts to feel the wall move farther.

"One last shove," Dean huffs out, "One, two, three."

With one last huge effort, the wall slides away enough to finally go loose. It opens wide enough to reveal a dimly lit, hidden area of the cellar, the only light coming from an old oil lamp in the corner. Both of their eyes are drawn to the figure on the wall almost right in front of them.

Dean could cry at the sight of his brother. The blood dripping down his face. Down his whole body. His shirt is long gone, pieces of it scattered on the floor below him. His chest is covered only by much of his own blood. Too much. Dean can't tell if he's even breathing. Everything is screaming that Sam is dead. This is Dean's worst nightmare.


	5. Chapter 5

**Ch. 5**

"Sammy!" He's at his brother's side in a second. He immediately reaches up to Sam's neck and feels around, praying that his brother is still alive. He lets out a shaky sigh when he finally finds a light pulse under his fingers and goes to stand on his toes to reach up and tries to get at the cuffs. When he realizes he needs a key, it physically pains him to leave his brother's side. "Sam? Hey. I'm right here little brother. Just gotta find a key."

Ally stands in the doorway, hands over her mouth as she looks at the once beautiful Sam Winchester. His silky hair she had wanted to run her hands through just an hour ago is stringy and filled with blood. Streams of blood run down his face and chest, his now ragged jeans are soaked with it, the weight pulling them down. They seem to be barely clinging to his waist, held up only by his belt, which is perilously loose on his slim, almost fragile looking, hips.

Dean is shoving things off the nearby shelves and tables, the clatter jolting Ally out of her stupor. He barely notices as she starts to help look. He finds an iron rod, a fire poker, and puts it between his belt and jeans to hold it when Sam lets out a pained whine. His chest constricts, and he's by Sam's side barely a second later. "Easy buddy. I'm right here. Sammy? Can you open your eyes for me?"

Sam lets out another whimper, a slight tremor running through his arms as if he were attempting to lift himself. His head moves.

"That's it. Wake up for me." He gently places a hand on his brother's hip, thumb fitting right into the cut of muscle at the edge of Sam's jeans. His other hand moves up to sink his fingers into his brother's hair and tilt his head up. "Sammy."

Sam's eyes flutter then. Dean waits patiently for them to open. When they finally do, the emptiness in them is shocking.

Dean sucks in a sharp breath. "Sam? It's me, man. Sammy."

Sam flinches away when Dean raises his other hand, face still blank. He looks down at the floor.

Dean feels his stomach sink. "Sam?"

"I've got it!" Ally comes over, key in hand. Dean almost forgot she was here.

He takes it from her, going back to reaching up just far enough to sink the key in and release first one hand, then the other, keeping his body right in front of his brother's to take on the weight when it collapses. That's exactly what it does. "Oh God, Sam." He lets Sam's weight pull him to the ground, holding his brother's limp body to his chest, not even caring about the blood that smears across his clothes.

"What's…" the girl trails off as Dean starts to helplessly shake his head.

"I don't know. I've never seen him like this." No tears have fallen yet, but his eyes are brimming with them. "C'mon, little bro." He lets Sam slouch down to the side, lifting his knees to support him as his hands take his face. "I need you to snap out of it, Sam. C'mon. Look at me. It's Dean. I've gotchya. You're gonna be okay now. You just need to wake up."

Empty eyes meet his, a spark of something lighting them before Sam's whole body tenses.

Dean's hands stay soft on his head, but curve around it to hold it steady. "Don't. It's me. Sammy? Sammysam?"

Something switches in Sam's eyes at that. A light coming on that was burnt out. They finally seem to see him. Really see him. The childhood nickname, a quick repetition of the two names that used to be a torment and became a sign of love, reaches him. _Stop calling me that! Makes me sound like I'm a dog!_ His eyes lock onto his brothers. "D'n."

Dean's face breaks out into a smile. "Hey." He leans down to kiss his forehead. "You with me?"

Sam's face crumbles then, a whimper for crying out loud making it through his throat. "Hurts."

Dean realizes then what his brother had done. He had shut himself down. Closed himself off so he wouldn't feel the pain. Damn. "Easy little brother. I'm here now. You'll be okay. Can you stand?"

Sam lets his head fall over to Dean's chest, looking down at his legs as he goes to move them. He groans, but gets his knees bent so his feet are flat on the ground. "Yeah. Legs are fine. Just… chest hurts," he chokes out.

"Alright. We're going to take this one step at a time. Let me know when it's too much, okay?"

Sam nods, starting to lean forward.

"Dean!" Ally reminds them of her presence yet again, drawing their attention to the form now standing in the middle of the room.

Dean hunches over Sam, left arm curving around to pull him back against his chest. His right arm reaches back to pull the iron rod from its place between his jeans and his belt. He practically snarls at the man in front of them when he feels his brother shaking in his hold. "Ally, get behind me."

This ghost is dangerous. He's reduced Sam, Dean's little brother who went through hell, into a shaking wreck. When Ally edges her way behind him, he starts to push himself to his feet. "Don't touch my brother again," he snarls. He doesn't know how well threatening a ghost will do, but he's willing to try anything.

"W-whatch out."

"Easy, Sam. I can take care of him. He's not strong enough to come back for a while when he disappears."

"Not h-him," Sam gets out. He rests his head tiredly against Dean's shoulder. Gets out one more word. "Brother."

Well shit. "That explains a lot," he hisses, standing to his feet and leaning Sam gently against the wall behind him. "Ally, where's my sawed-off?"

"Upstairs."

"Damnit." He had forgotten he gave it to Darren.

"I can call Darren."

"Do it."

Dean plants his feet on either side of his brother's sprawled legs sticking out from where he's leaning against the wall. He straightens, arms out from his sides with one still holding the iron rod. He makes himself as big as possible, keeping himself between his brother and Ally, and the spirit. He keeps his eyes peeled in case of the other one.

"Darren. Basement. Secret wall in the very back. We're trapped…. _Why do you think I'm calling you?_" The last is hissed out in annoyance. She stays on the phone with him though she doesn't talk again.

Dean is warily watching the spirit in front of him move closer, knife turning in its hand. He lifts the hand with the iron rod. "Back off!" He'd rather not have this thing get any closer to them than necessary. But without his gun…

The spirit suddenly dissipates with a bang, salt spattering the wall barely a foot away from Dean's shoulder. Darren stands in the doorway, a look on his face that Dean grins at. It's a look of determination. The fear is starting to leave.

"Welcome to the world of ghost hunting. Glad to have you aboard." Dean barely takes a step away from Sam before he's sailing through the air.

"Dean!"

He hits the adjacent wall with a thud, landing on the ground too far away from his iron rod to get to it before a new spirit is standing over him. When he looks up into it's eyes, he sees a familiar look of anger there. He sighs mentally. As he's preparing to fight off the ghost if it reaches for him, there's another bang and salt whizzes past close enough for him to feel the tiny stray particles sting his face. "Shit!" He curls in on himself.

"Sorry! Tried to get around so it wouldn't hit you square in the chest. That's why it took so long."

Dean snorts as he lets himself fall against the wall for a second to breathe. "Wouldn't bet the first time," he huffs out in a slight laugh. He's long since forgiven Sam for that incident. He was being controlled, after all. Pushing himself to his feet, he moves over to said brother and smiles when he sees Sam's droopy eyes watching him. "Hey, bro."

Sam reaches up with one tired hand, letting out a sigh when Dean takes it. "Woke up again to Darren firing off a shot and seeing you curled up against the wall. You okay?"

Dean chuckles. "First of all, I wasn't curled up. I was… shielding myself with my arms. Salt stings, man."

Sam grins crookedly. "Uh huh."

Dean winks at him. "Second, I'm fine. How are you doing?" His hand tightens on Sam's and his other arm moves around to wrap around his shoulders.

"Okay." He grunts as Dean helps him stand, leaning against the wall afterwards to rest and breathe. Then he's hit with a wave of dizziness.

"Whoa, easy." Dean catches him, chuckling when Sam's head falls over to lean against his shoulder. "You alright?"

Sam groans. "Dizzy. Prob'ly blood loss."

Dean's smile disappears. His hands tighten on Sam. "Sammy?"

"'M alright," he mumbles. "Lets get out of here. Please."

"Alright. Easy, buddy. C'mon."

Darren steps forward. "Need any help?"

Dean shakes his head, sliding Sam's arm around his shoulders. "I've got him. I've been carrying this kid since he was born."

Darren shrugs, stepping back to take up the rear and keep watch, shotgun still in his hands reloaded and ready.

Ally stays right behind the brothers in case Dean does end up needing help.

As they ascend the stairs to the first floor, Dean frowns. Sam is light. Sure, his brother has never had an extra pound of fat on his body since he was twelve, but this is… merging on unhealthy. He's still got weight to him, but when Dean looks down to Sam's cut open and bloody torso and looks past that, he realizes that he never noticed how… skinny Sam is.

He still has muscle, but though they're as prominent as always, so are his bones. His hip bones are sharp above the edge of his low hanging jeans. His ribs have a hollow under them that never used to be there. And Dean can count them. All of them, not just the bottom few. He starts feeling sick. Now that he thinks about it, he can't remember the last time he's seen Sam eat a full meal since he got back.

When they finally reach the top of the stairs, he feels Sam's legs giving out on him. He barely makes it over to the dusty couch before he feels all of Sam's weight pull on his shoulders. "Sammy." He kneels in front of his brother, reaching up to tilt Sam's head up. "Hey. I need you to look at me."

Sam barely lifts his head, eyes meeting Dean's with a little trouble.

"When was the last time you've eaten a full meal, Sam?"

Sam grimaces, looking away guiltily.

Dean's eyes widen. "Sam!"

Sam flinches.

Dean softens his tone. "Sammy, why haven't you eaten? God, Sam. You…" he trials off, hand going to lay against his brother's ribs as if it could cover them more protectively than Sam's skin alone. He doesn't react when Sam flinches slightly away. He frowns when he notices Sam's shaking. "Sam?"

The worry seems to reach Sam. "Okay. Jus' cold."

He pulls off his jacket, sliding Sam's arms through it and pulling it closed. That's another thing. Sam is never cold. Of course, he used to shiver a lot when he shot up around seventeen, not having enough meat on his bones to keep himself warm though he ate like a horse. "Answer me," he pushes.

Sam doesn't look up from behind the protective curtain of his hair. He shifts down a little, almost burrowing himself in Dean's jacket like a giant five year old. "Jus' haven't been hungry," he mumbles.

Dean growls. "Not good enough. You always eat. Even if it's just to make sure you're ready for the next hunt."

Sam still won't meet his eyes. "Been sick lately."

Dean stands, hand running down his face. "When was the list time you've eaten? I mean… God Sam!" Dean's been hungry for the past hour, but he had breakfast yesterday. Sam… Sam never finished his. Did he even eat any of the donuts? Dean can't remember. Hasn't really noticed much about Sam lately. The thought makes that sick feeling come back. He's responsible for this. He's been too angry with his brother to notice that he's not acting right.

Sam curls in on himself. "M'sorry," he murmurs. Another failure. Another reason Dean's eventually going to leave him.

"Sorry? Sam…" Dean trails off, not really knowing what to say.

Darren and Ally stand in the doorway of the room, not really wanting to step in and interrupt anything. The fight is making Ally cringe though. She can see the wear on Sam. Waits for it to occur to Dean that there's more going on here than Sam not eating. Sam is… he's hurting in a way that's more than physical. She doesn't know why, but she can see he's a little frayed at the edges.

Sam finally looks up, eyes on Dean's back. The cuts all over him are burning. He's weak from blood loss and malnutrition, exhausted from pain. He lets himself fall over to lie on his side, barely having the strength to pull his feet up to lay fully on the couch, head on the arm rest. He wraps his arms around himself. "Let's just find out about these ghosts," he rasps. "Talk about this later."

Dean whirls around to glare at his brother, but is cut off before he can talk.

"He's right," Darren cuts in. "There are two of them. Now what?"

Dean sighs. "That's a good question."

"There has to be information in the house, right?" Ally asks. "And if what you've said is true, they have to be here. Because their ghosts are here."

Dean nods to himself.

"The older brother chooses the victims." Everyone looks to Sam, who doesn't even bother opening his eyes. "He's the muscle. He's the one that picks 'em and takes 'em. Incapacitates them enough to get them cuffed to the wall. It's the younger brother that does the torturing."

Darren's face contorts into a grimace. "Who _are_ these people?"

"I think the younger brother is a little demented," Sam murmurs.

"You think?" Dean grunts.

Sam continues. "But he does it for more than just… blood lust. When he came toward me the first time, he said 'Let's see how much you can take'. I think he was fascinated by pain tolerance. How much certain people could take. How much he could bleed them before they gave in."

Dean's face has gone a little pale at the thought of someone doing exactly what they would start with in hell. Just pain tolerance exercises. Seeing what it took to make them scream. Even though he knows his brother had been to hell too, it's worse to think that Sam can't escape that even in life.

Sam still hasn't opened his eyes, but he suddenly flinches. Then lets out a breath. "He kept saying things. Thinking to himself. About… how big I was. Whether I'd be able to survive more blood loss than others because I had more. Whether because I was bigger than the average person, maybe I could take more. Then he realized how thin I was and got even more interested."

With a sudden jolt, Dean realizes that his brother is reliving the experience. Trying to remember anything helpful. "Sam…"

Sam cuts him off. "Eventually I started using that technique Dad taught us. Pulled inside, away from the pain. When he realized what I had done, he got angry. Stopped being careful and started hacking away. He did a lot more before everything went black. It was a hit to the head I think. He lost restraint."

"Anything else you can tell us?" Ally asks softly.

Sam finally cracks an eye open. "Don't get caught."


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry about the crazy long wait. Got busy for the past two weeks. Hope you like the update. **

**Ch. 6**

"Sam…"

Sam looks to Dean. "You should check the bedrooms. For a journal. Or something. The older brother was hesitant. Even now. I think in life, he was humoring his brother. Picking certain people that he thought would be deserving of what his brother wanted. An escaped convict. A rapist. He appeased his brother, because he couldn't stop him."

Dean frowns. "How do you know…?"

"The brother tried to justify why he took me. He tried to make me understand. Dean, he'll do anything to appease his brother."

Dean crouches down in front of him. "Hey, calm down. Don't worry. We're going to search the whole place. We'll figure out how to stop them."

Sam reaches out to grip Dean's wrist. "Dean. They never let anyone escape."

Dean frowns. "Okay…"

"If he comes back for me, you'll have to let-"

"Whoah wait! I'm not gonna let them take you again!"

"Dean. No one has ever left this cabin. There's just been missing people. No one ever found. No one ever escaped. They're going to come back for me. And if they do, you need to just keep searching for their bones or whatever is keeping them here."

Dean snarls. "Sam-"

"If you don't, I'm never making it out of here alive."

"You don't know that."

Sam looks him right in the eye. "Yes. I do."

"How?" Dean grits out.

"He told me, in great detail, of what he did to the man who tried to escape."

They stare at each other in silence for a minute, a whole novel of conversations passing between them. Sam's been saying things as they're relevant, telling Dean that his brother doesn't really want to talk about what happened at all. In that fact, Sam can see that Dean understands how terrified he is of going back.

Dean finally reaches up to sink his fingers in the hair at the back of Sam's neck and cup the back of his head. "Sammy. I'm not gonna let him kill you."

"Then you need to salt and burn them. Soon."

Dean sighs. "Let's get to it then."

Sam lays his head down, Dean's fingers leaving his hair. "I'm not getting up, Dean."

"The hell you-"

"I'm so tired," he breathes. "My head is spinning and if I stand up, the little blood that is still in my head won't be there long. I can't help you. Just leave me the shotgun."

Dean wipes a hand over his face. "Sam…"

"You can see it, Dean. Just make it easier on both of us and let me fend them off as long as possible. It'll distract them from you guys. So go. They've been getting stronger sooner the more people they've killed. They'll be back soon."

With one last frustrated groan, Dean stands and turns to Darren who tosses him the shotgun. He fishes whatever rock salt bullets they have left from the bag on the floor, and give them all to Sam after checking the gun for him. He kneels down again. "You hold on. You hear me? Don't let them…"

"They're going to," Sam murmurs. Then smiles softly. "Just make sure they don't get me for too long."

"I won't," Dean murmurs back. His eyes search Sam's. He doesn't like the almost emotionless look in them. He likes the thought of not being able to protect Sam even less. So he does something that hasn't happened for the better part of a year. He threads his fingers in Sam's hair again, pulling him forward by the back of his neck to give him a thorough kiss.

When he stands, Sam stares up at him in shock.

Darren gapes at them.

Ally smirks.

Dean looks to them, seeing the look on Darren's face. "We going to have a problem?" His hand reaches down to barely brush through Sam's hair, whose breath hitches and eyes fall closed at the soft contact.

Ally shakes her head, taking Darren's arm and leading him away. "Not at all. We're going to start looking through the rooms upstairs."

"Iron!" Dean calls as a warning.

"Have it!" Ally answers, not looking back but waving the iron poker she had picked up downstairs when Dean left it to carry Sam.

Dean looks back down at Sam, who's still a little shocked at the turn of events. "You sure you're gonna be okay?"

Sam lets his eyes fall closed, laying down to sink into the couch as the little energy he had leaves him. "Not at all. So hurry." He buries his nose in the warm jacket around him, breathing in the comforting smell of his big brother.

"I will," Dean promises. One more gentle ruffle to his brother's hair, then he's going up the stairs, taking two at a time to catch up with Darren and Ally. When he hears hushed voices in one room, he keeps going. There are other rooms to check anyway. He'll let them talk.

He and Sam already looked through these rooms. But they weren't looking for the right thing. This time, he starts to search a little deeper. Not obvious signs of things lying around. But there are always things hidden. He just has to figure out the right place to look.

_You should check the bedrooms. For a journal. Or something. The older brother was hesitant. Even now. I think in life, he was humoring his brother_. Dean looks through the room he walks into. The unmade bed. The books all across the desk. Walking over, he can easily tell these wouldn't hold anything interesting. He flips through a few of them anyway. "Okay, Sam. Where do I look then?"

This was a grown man. Not a teenage girl. It wouldn't be a fancy notebook. It'd probably be old and ratty. And wouldn't be hidden under the pillow. Dean looks there anyway. Under the bed, inside the mostly empty closet, and in a chest at the end of the bed. Nothing.

"Dean." Ally comes in, waving an old notebook in the air. "Found it."

He takes it from her. "Perfect." He flips through it. It's falling apart. Old and ratty just like he'd thought. He skims through it. The writings are mostly disjointed thoughts. Nothing but guilt and thoughts about his brother. He reads various random excerpts aloud.

'_Mother died last month. A heart attack out in her garden. We made sure her funeral had lilies. Now it's just the two of us left out here. We could go into town, but this house is ours. I think we'll stay, blah, blah, blah…'_ Dean trails off. Keeps flipping.

'_Something's happened. And I'm not sure I understand why he's doing this. I almost couldn't talk him out of letting the girl go. It was only after I got her to promise not to talk that he finally released her. I hope she was telling the truth.'_

"So there's when it started," Ally murmurs.

Dean nods. He flips, then reads.

'_He's gotten worse. I can't talk him out of it anymore. The only way I've found to compromise and appease him is to find criminals. People who would be more deserving of his punishment.'_

Darren huffs. "Deserving? No one deserves that."

'_I did it again. And even as I hear the screams, I can't tell myself I wouldn't do it tomorrow.'_

Ally shudders. "Yikes."

'_I don't understand my brother's insistence of finding the human threshold for pain. I can't help but wonder what I did to make him turn out this way.'_ Dean cringes at this. This man wasn't a monster. And he still isn't now. He just cares about his brother. Like Sam said. And he wonders… what would he do if Sam were like this? He keeps flipping through, shaking off the thought.

'_He's getting antsy. Any day now he's going to ask me to do it again. I wonder if this time I'll have the strength to say no.'_

The next page is just two words.

'_I didn't.'_

Dean sighs. "Poor bastard. He didn't want this. He didn't choose this."

"Still no clues to where they could be," Darren grumbles.

Dean flips through until he finds blank pages, then turns back to the last entry. He sucks in a sharp breath. Then reads.

'_He's gone. He died today. Out of nowhere. No warning. And I wonder if it wasn't something inside his brain making him do these things. Maybe I could have gotten him help. It doesn't matter now. All that matters is that I find somewhere peaceful for him. And to follow soon after. If anyone finds this, I'm sorry for the trouble we caused. It's over.'_

Dean flips the notebook closed, the loose pages causing something to fall out of the very back. He kneels down to pick it up. It's a flattened lily of all things. He tucks it back into the journal and drops it on the bed next to him.

"If he killed himself, then where is he?" Dean wonders aloud, staring down at the journal.

"Great. That means there's two of them to find," Darren groans.

"And they could be anywhere on the property," Dean sighs.

It's then that they hear the gunshot.

Dean's stomach plummets. "Sam!" He takes off down the hall, Darren and Ally a few feet behind.

There's a meaty thump. And a short cry of pain.

Dean leaps over the first banister to land at the top of the longer flight of stairs. "Sammy!"

Another gunshot. A clatter. A cry that sounds more like a strangled breath.

He practically falls down the stairs to get to the bottom. "_Sam!_" He rounds the corner to see the empty living room.

Nothing. Silence.

His hands run though his hair, breathing ragged and vision blurry. It's like the devil stole his brother all over again. There's no doubt that it won't be that easy to get into the basement again.

"Dean. The bodies. You said we have to burn them to save him!"

Ally's cool head is a wonder. She snaps him back in place. "The bodies. Yeah. Uh… shit where could they be?" The heels of his hands dig into his eyes as he wills himself to focus. He's too old to be doing this. To panic. But it's _Sam._

"He said he was going to burry his brother somewhere peaceful," Ally murmurs, hand running through her hair in her own sign of stress.

"That could be anywhere for these psychos," Darren hisses.

She shakes her head. "No. The older brother was more normal. He'd have a specific place in mind. His brother was important to him, no matter how much of a sociopath he was."

Dean hasn't moved, hands still gripping the short strands of hair on his head where his hands had moved up from his eyes. His mind is racing. Suddenly, his head snaps up. "His mother's favorite flower." He sprints to his bag and digs inside it for the salt and lighter fluid.

Ally frowns. "Lilies?"

"How many lilies do you think are in these woods?"

She gasps. "Not many."

Dean leads the way out the back door, released again now that they have a current captive. The thought makes Dean's stomach clench. They fan out as they run through the back yard, eyes scanning for some sign of color or flowers. "You guys search the perimeter! I'll search the woods!" He climbs his way through the thick branches at the edge, grunting when he trips and lands on his hands and knees. Then he scrambles back up and starts scanning the area.

"Lilies. Of all things. Stupid psychos. Stupid idiotic brothers." He starts to make his way in a circle around the perimeter of the field. Nothing. Not a flower in sight. Nothing but green. Where in the-?

"Dean!"

He's sprinting off after the voice, going back through the trees to see Ally waving him over, right by the house.

"Really?"

She shrugs, then points.

A flower garden. Of all places. Tucked into a corner behind the house.

"How do you know this is where…?"

Darren kneels down to lift the shovel laying half buried in the dirt. "He dug the hole, put his brother in, covered both of them mostly back up, then shot himself."

Dean frowns. "How do you-?"

Darren reaches over with the shovel to lift an old pistol from the dirt by the very edge, pulling a decomposed hand out of the ground still wrapped around the grip.

Dean grimaces. "Oh."

"How has the wildlife not dug him up?" Darren mutters, starting to dig.

Dean snorts. "Sometimes restless spirits throw off waves that animals seem to avoid. They're smarter than us."

"Tell me about it," Darren grunts.

Dean pulls the small canister of salt out of his front pocket, the lighter fluid from his back pocket, and reaches for his lighter. He freezes when he hears something.

Darren stops digging, and all three listen as a sharp cry of pain emanates from somewhere around them.

Dean's stomach drops. "Sam."

Ally steps out of the garden and toes the dirt there, revealing wood. "Dean. A cellar door."

Dean snatches the shovel from Darren, running over to uncover the door. It's mostly rotted away, but the bolt around the lock is still in place. He slams the edge of the shovel down into the wood at the edge of the metal clasps on the door, snapping easily through before tossing the shovel back to Darren. "Keep digging!" He turns to Ally, handing her the salt and the lighter fluid. "When he digs them up, pour these on them."

She nods.

He hands her his lighter. "Then light 'em up. You get me?"

She nods again, taking the lighter. "Go."

He doesn't have to be told twice. Yanking open the door, he drops through into a tuck and roll. He's on his feet again just in time to see the ghost slowly run a blade along the top of his brother's left hip, Sam letting out a sharp cry of pain the whole time. He doesn't think. He just charges.

All he has to do is distract him long enough for them to dig up the bodies. That's it. Though that's easier said than done when he handed off his salt, his gun, and the iron rod throughout the night. The ghost is corporeal though. Able to hold a knife and touch his brother. He should be able to fight him off.

As the knife is headed towards Sam again, Dean slides between the two. He intends to grab the knife. What he doesn't expect is to be hit in the side with the force of a line backer. He slides across the floor, stunned and unable to scramble up before a hand is around his throat, holding him down. He looks up into the face of the ghost of the older brother. Great.

"Dean." It's weak. Quiet and airy. But Sam's worry is evident. His ribs heave with each breath where he hangs against the wall and his eyes are on his brother's. Then they widen. "No."

Dean lets out a cry of his own as a white-hot pain slices through his side.

"No one touches my brother," the ghost hisses.

Dean grunts, hands going to grip the wrist below his chin. With the supernatural strength though, the hand doesn't even budge. Fireflies dance before his eyes. His gasping gets rougher and rougher until… silence. He can't breath. His vision fades.

"Dean!" Sam tries to pull his hands out of the cuffs, even though he knows there's no way his hands will ever slide through. Unless he broke them. The thought flickers through his head, but he's not strong enough anymore. Maybe before. Maybe when he wasn't so weak. Maybe… maybe if he was just better.

He watches as the ghost of the older brother places the tip of his knife above Dean's heart, his own pain forgotten. He's about to watch his older brother die. Again. And once again, he isn't able to stop it. As the ghost wraps his whole hand around the handle of the knife, all of the fight goes out of his body. His eyes droop. His vision is dark around the edges, but he fights for the last few minutes. He deserves to watch this.


	7. Chapter 7

**Ch. 7**

The wailing of the ghosts happens suddenly. They both go up in flames at the same time. Two knives clatter to the floor. The basement is silent. Sam's eyes are still on Dean. "Dean." His voice scrapes out of his raw throat. Barely there.

Dean hasn't moved. Hasn't barely breathed. Is he even still breathing at all?

Panic makes his next cry louder. "Dean!"

Darren drops down then, reaching up to help Ally down too. "Hey, what happened?" Darren asks.

Sam shakes his head. "Dean. Check Dean. Please. I can't tell if he's breathing." He's hanging limp against the wall now. But he has to know. Has to know if he needs to fight for his life or if he can just give up.

Ally runs over to Dean, hands framing his face and turning it up before reaching a hand over his mouth. She doesn't feel anything. Her breath hitches as she lays her head down on his chest. Nothing. Oh God. "He's not breathing."

Darren reaches them then, kneeling next to Dean's other side. "Al, breath for him when I tell you to, okay? Make sure you tilt his head up." He layers his hands and links his fingers together and goes through compressions. "Breathe."

Ally breathes into Dean every time Darren tells her to. They work together to get his heart beating on it's own again. After a few rounds, a hitched breath works it's way out of Dean. Darren stops compressions and puts his fingers to Dean's neck. He's still for a few moments. Then nods.

Ally lets out a sigh of relief and looks over to Sam. "We've got him. He's going to be okay."

Sam's head falls forward the last bit. "Okay." It's surrender. He was going to fight. But he's so tired...

Ally recognizes it. "Oh no you don't," she snarls, "Don't you give up now." She stands, running over and scrambling to find the key to the cuffs again. "Don't you give up on your brother."

She gets no reply.

"Sam!" She slaps him lightly against the cheek.

He doesn't lift his head, but he does open his eyes, looking up through his hair. "Better off…" he barely slurs.

"No. Not at all. Take my word for it. Keep those eyes open. You hear me?"

Dean is stirring now. Blinking up at Darren. "Please tell me you didn't kiss me." He smirks at Darren's look of disgust.

"Ally did the breathing," Darren mutters, pushing himself to his feet.

Dean groans as he rolls over, hand coming up to rub at his neck. That's going to hurt for a while. Then he hones in on Ally's words.

"Your brother did not try to save you to have you die on him now. You hear me?" She flings a few things off the table.

Sam mumbles something Dean can't make out. His breath is thin.

"No. Stop it. Fight, Sam!" She picks something up. "Found it."

Dean pushes himself to his feet. "Sammy." He winces when the cut in his side burns. He'd forgotten about that. Now that he thinks about it… Looking down, blood is slowly making a bigger spot on his shirt. Laying his arm over it, he makes his way to, "Sam."

Sam barely raises his head. "D'n."

Taking the key from Ally, Dean ignores the burn in his side as he reaches up to sink it into the locks. And once again, he catches his brother as he falls. "Hey. Easy. I've gotchya."

Sam's head falls to rest on Dean's shoulder. He doesn't answer.

Dean's arms close around his brother. "Sammy. Hey. Sam!"

"Cold," he whispers.

Dean sighs. "Okay. Alright. We'll get you back upstairs, yeah? And we'll chill on the couch for a while."

Ally and Darren have to open the brick door, struggling for a while to pull it open. It's significantly harder to open from the inside. It takes longer this time to get Sam up the stairs. Every move hurts him. Dean cringes in sympathy of every little sound Sam makes, along with winces for his own burning side. When they finally get to the top of the stairs, Dean lets out a breath of relief.

Sam collapses.

"Whoa! Sam!" Dean grips Sam to him, but his brother's weight is wearing on his own tired and beaten body.

Darren shows up on Sam's other side, pulling his arm over his shoulder. "Let's get him to the couch."

They move carefully into the living room, Dean sitting on the couch and gently lowering his brother next to him so that he's leaning on his chest and his legs are draped over his own. "Hey. Sammy. Look at me, buddy." He reaches up with the hand that isn't around Sam's shoulders to tilt his face up. He tries to smile when he meets open eyes. "Hey. Stay with me, Sammy."

"Hurts," Sam wheezes out.

"I know. But we're going to get you out of here."

Sam shakes his head. "Not strong enough." He falls over into Dean's chest.

Dean holds him tightly to him, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as he struggles to compose himself. Struggles to find some way to get his brother out of here alive. Dean looks up. "He isn't going to make it. You'll have to go for help."

Ally frowns. "It'll take longer to make two trips…."

Dean shakes his head. "As long as he lays still he'll bleed out slower. And there's no we we'll be able to carry him down fast enough. Going for help is the only option here."

Ally looks down at Sam. Then meets Dean's eyes. She nods, then turns to Darren. "Ready to go for a run?"

As Ally and Darren start pulling on their jackets, Dean starts talking.

"Hey. Sammy. You remember when we were little? Right after you learned what it was that Dad did. And the things that go bump in the night were real. You remember you asked me what happens when you die?"

Sam nods a tiny bit. "Yeah." He lets his head fall over into Dean's neck.

"I said, 'You forget everything.' You remember?"

"Yeah." Voice barely there this time.

"And you had asked, 'Even you?' You didn't want to die. Not because you were afraid, but because you didn't want to forget me. You remember?"

Sam musters up a tiny smile. "I remember."

Ally stands next to Darren, tucked under his arm with tears in her eyes at the conversation. She feels him hold her a little closer, and guesses that he's finally understanding the brothers.

"You don't need to worry though, little brother. Been there, done that, huh? You know I'll be right there. That you don't even have a chance to forget. Cause you're trapped with me through all eternity."

Sam barely manages to lift his hand to let it fall over Dean's heart. "Yeah." Dean barely hears that one.

He holds back his tears. "You hold on. You hear me? But if you can't, I'll be right here. Okay? I won't let you go."

Sam's eyes fall closed. "'De."

"Right here, baby boy. Always right here." He lays his head down on Sam's. "Just stay with me, Sammy. Just hold on for a little longer, little brother. Okay?"

"Tired."

"I know. But help is coming. Just hold on buddy."

"You guys just hold tight," Ally murmurs, bringing a blanket over and draping it so that it covers both of their legs. She smiles softly at Dean's 'thank you'. "We'll try to hurry."

"Go," Dean murmurs.

They do.

Then the house is silent. Empty. No more danger. No more ghosts. Just Dean and Sam, sitting on the couch. Eventually Dean leans over and pulls Sam's legs up and pulls his own up to get them both laying on their sides to be more relaxed. He makes sure the blanket is covering his shivering brother before letting out a sigh. "I'm right here, little brother. Just stay with me. They'll bring help."

There's no reply from Sam this time, but Dean can still feel his ribs lifting and falling with every breath.

"I need you to make it home, Sammy. You can't die when things are like this between us. You need to make it home so we can talk this out. Okay? Don't give up on me yet." Dean lets his head fall back against the couch. "Just a few hours. Hold on, Sammy."

* * *

When they burst through the door, Dean's head snaps up. He hadn't let himself fall asleep with Sam the way he is, wanting to keep an eye on his condition. For a second, his arms tighten around his brother, thinking that they did something wrong. That the spirits are going to try to take him again. Then, everyone runs in.

The medics took one look at Sam's blood soaked jeans and jumped into overdrive. Dean finally let himself relax, allowing them to pull him along as long as his brother was in his sight. He rides in the same ambulance, unable to really follow what they're dong with Sam, but getting the impression that he mostly just needs a blood transfusion.

"We don't have any with us," one of the paramedics hisses.

Dean's eyes snap over to them. "What?"

The person flinches back at the anger in his gaze. "We didn't have a big enough truck that could make it back this far. These woods are brutal."

Now that Dean is waking himself up again, this truck really is small. In fact… "What is this thing?"

"It's converted. Not a standard issue ambulance. In case of situations like this. When they told us you were in a cabin… we didn't think he'd look like he was mauled by a bear."

Dean practically growls, ripping his over shirt off and shoving out his arm. "Take it from me."

As the truck starts, the medics frown. One speaks up. "I can't do that-"

"It already took six hours to get this piece of crap back here," he hisses. "You going to tell me that he'll be able to hold on that long? He's been bleeding out for hours. I may not know much, but I know the color of my brother's skin when something is seriously wrong."

Both Dean and the medics look to Sam, taking in the light sheen of sweat on his face and the paling color.

"I'm type O," Dean continues. "Just take it from me."

The medic still hesitates. "We have to test it. And irradiate a relative's blood. We can't-"

"I know all about GVHD and all that crap. Don't look at me like that, we haven't had the easiest life. But this is his only chance. Do it like they used to. Just use it as it is. I know you can't separate blood cells and crap." His voice raises. "Just take it from me! It'll keep him alive until we get there!"

With one last look towards Sam, the man nods. "Okay. You can't sue us for this if it doesn't work."

Dean huffs out a humorless chuckle. "I won't give a crap about anything if he doesn't make it," he murmurs. He holds out his arm, not even flinching when the needle finally makes it's way into his vein. About ten minutes later, he's leaning back against the gurney they have his brother in, keeping himself from passing out. Trying to keep them from noticing that he lost his fair share of blood. But he still has enough. Sam needs it.

When they finally finish taking it, he turns slightly to reach over and lay his arm over his brother's now bandaged chest. "Hold on for a few more minutes, Sammy. I've gotchya covered."

The man hooks the IV up to Sam, connecting the bag with Dean's blood a few minutes later. "We'll need to watch him for complications. It could easily-"

"Just shut up," Dean growls. "If it works, it works. If it doesn't…" He trails off, leaning sideways to lay his head down on his arms and breathe. Still trying not to pass out, he starts counting. When he reaches one hundred for the fifth time, the medic lets out a sigh. He takes that as a good sign.

Halfway back to town, Sam's color has returned enough to let Dean breathe easier. Dean isn't sick anymore. He's watching his brother, hand still on his chest. He's been chewed out by the medic for hiding the cut on his side and has it stitched and bandaged. He doesn't give a crap. Sam's improving.

Twenty minutes from civilization, Sam's eyes flutter open. "D'n."

Dean pats his brother's chest. "Right here, Sammy."

Sam's hand lifts shakily to land on Dean's. "Kay." He passes back out.

The blood has been used, and Sam will most likely need more when they get there with the amount of blood he's lost, but he'll make it. Dean breathes easy. When they finally pull up in front of the small hospital, Dean stays right with the gurney as they wheel his brother in. He has to fight with the nurses to stay with him as they push him back into a room, but he makes it.

Everything happens quickly then. He stays out of the way as they check his brother over. Making sure they didn't miss anything. They finally hook him up for another transfusion and by the end of a half hour, there are so many tubes leading to his brother it makes Dean queasy again to look at.

It's been a long time since he's seen Sam in such bad shape. It's not like the hell wall breaking. It's not like falling into the pit. It's worse than seeing him looking so small in that psychiatric ward. Sam's body hasn't been this bad off in a long time. And somehow, that's worse.

A nurse steps up to him. "He's severely malnourished."

Dean flinches.

She suspiciously frowns. "How long were you out in the woods?"

"Last night," Dean answers through his choked-up throat. He clears it and tries to compose himself. "I just… things have been tough lately. I forgot he doesn't eat when he's really upset about something." His voice trails off. "I didn't even notice."

The nurse seems to sense his despair, and re-evaluates Dean's hand in the situation. She goes the total opposite direction of abuse. "Eating disorders-"

"It's not an eating disorder," Dean growls. "It's emotional distress. He forgets to eat when he's upset, and it makes him sick if he does so he avoids it. And I was too selfish to even notice what he was doing." He 's rude to the nurse. He knows this. Ignores her as he finally makes his way to the side of Sam's bed. "Sammy?"

The nurse leaves, knowing it's useless to push more today.

Dean sits next to his brother, hesitating for only a second before he reaches out to take Sam's hand. "Listen, buddy. I know things have been tough lately. And I've been too angry to see what you've been going through. But I'm ready to listen now. So I need you to get better so we can get out of this place. You know how I hate hospitals."

The room is quiet. Nothing outside of the sound of the machines around his brother and his labored breathing.

* * *

**The conversation about forgetting everything when you die is from Olafur Arnalds - Neizvestnoe. He's a very unique composer I'll give him that. I couldn't help but think of the brothers when I listened to it.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Not a bad update gap. :) Thanks to the reviews and following readers who just like to read and not have to leave feedback. I appreciate you following this story.**

**It'll be shorter than my other long stories. The next chapter may be the last one. So thanks for indulging my plot bunny that didn't deliver a longer story. *Shrugs* **

* * *

**Ch. 8**

Dean doesn't leave the hospital. Even with the nurse from before trying to convince him that Sam is in good hands. It doesn't matter. He refuses to leave.

"Mr. Whitfield…"

Dean crosses his arms, looking down at the nurse. "Look. I know you have a policy. I understand that. But I'm not leaving. Unless you wanna drug me up or call the cops. Which I would advise against if you want my brother to not panic when he wakes up."

The nurse pauses at that.

Dean sighs, deflating. "Please. Just… please."

The nurse sighs too. "Okay. But don't let anyone see you."

Dean's all too good at that, but the nurse staff still know him by name on day two. He suspects the one nurse probably let them know.

The nurses assigned to Sam's room make sure he eats by bringing food. When he tries to refuse, one of them glares at him.

"Your brother obviously hasn't eaten a decent meal in a long time."

Dean flinches.

"If you want him to eat when he wakes up, you better start eating yourself." She shoves the tray into his hands, smirking at his shocked look. "I've seen a lot of people with troubling eating habits. If you want to influence them, you first have to eat well yourself." It's a low blow, but it works.

Dean sighs. "Fine."

The other nurse laughs, leading her friend from the room.

They all see the pudding cups he leaves aside over the next day but don't comment, understanding what they're for. Except for one.

Dean shrugs when she asks. "Vanilla pudding was always his favorite."

She barely makes it from the room without him seeing her watery eyes, overwhelmed with the love in that one sentence.

* * *

Sam wakes up towards nightfall of day two. He gradually blinks his eyes open to a slightly dimmed room. When he sees that half of the ceiling lights are off, he assumes his brother had them that way for when he woke up. "Dean?" Sam turns his head, eyes falling on the empty chair next to his bed.

A hazy sweep of the room confirms that it's empty before he lets his eyes fall closed again with a groan. His whole body hurts, but that doesn't bother him. What bothers him is the empty chair. Dean isn't here.

He has a minute of panic. What happened to Dean? Did he make it out? As he starts to wake up, he gets flashes of memories. Dean next to him in the ambulance. Yes, Dean made it out. So… He forces his eyes open, turning his head towards the door when he hears someone coming. "Dean?"

It isn't Dean. The nurse that's walking by and checking in stops when she sees his eyes open. She smiles as she walks in. "Nice to see you waking up, Mr. Whitfield."

He only has a second of confusion before his hunter brain kicks in. He nods once, letting his eyes fall closed. Where's Dean? He doesn't ask aloud. Is afraid of the answer. Is afraid his brother doesn't want to be here. Of course, who wants to sit at a hospital all day? Not to mention how much Dean hates hospitals.

"Are you in pain?" the nurse asks, making some notes on his clipboard.

Sam shakes his head. Pain is good. Pain is a distraction.

"Tell the truth, Sammy."

Sam turns to the door again, forcing his eyes open to see Dean walking in. "Dean."

Dean chuckles, looking to the nurse. "Go ahead and give him another dose." He sits in his chair, reaching out to lay his hand over Sam's wrist. He grips it for a second in a short squeeze. "How you feeling buddy?"

Sam blinks at him, mind still catching up. "I thought…"

Dean sighs. "I just went to the bathroom. I knew you'd wake up when I wasn't here. You're a bitch like that."

Sam sighs, rolling his eyes weakly.

Dean grins. "Can you stay awake long enough to eat something?" He reaches over to grab one of the few cups of pudding he'd kept from his meals.

Sam looks at it.

"Please?"

He looks to Dean, smiling a little at the pleading look there. It's been a while. He nods a little. "Okay. But you aren't spoon feeding me."

Dean grins, opening the pudding and pulling a spoon out of the plastic wrap. He debates on bringing up the main issue while Sam eats, but decides against it. Sam needs to get better first. He needs to eat to get his strength back and he can't do that if he's making himself sick over what's hurting him. So he decides it would be best to wait and tries not to stare at Sam to make sure he eats all of the pudding.

When Sam hands the empty cup over, Dean lets out a breath. He keeps an eye on him to make sure he keeps it down though. When Sam falls asleep without any issues, he finally lets out a sigh.

The nurse from the first day who confronted Dean about Sam's eating stops by to check over his chart. She sees the empty cup on the tray and looks to Dean. "You keep him eating."

He nods, meeting her gaze.

"Baby steps. His stomach is most likely shrunk. So keep it up with the easy foods." She nods to the pudding. "But when you leave, don't force him to eat more than he can. Just make sure it's more than the time before."

Dean nods. "Thanks."

She puts a hand to his shoulder as he leaves.

He takes it as her apology for her accusing guesses.

* * *

Dean makes Sam eat both of the remaining pudding cups the next morning for breakfast. He knows Sam is getting nutrients from the IV in his arm, but he wants more meat on his brother's bones. He's so done with the thinness of his brother's usually fit body. He smiles when he realizes it's more than the time before.

It's exactly the beginning of visiting hours when there's a knock at the open door to their room. Dean turns in his seat to see Ally and Darren in the doorway. He smiles. "Hey, guys."

Sam gives them a small smile, turning off the TV where he was flicking through the channels. Not like there was anything on anyway. "You guys okay?"

Ally walks over, leaning down to give Sam a soft hug. "We're fine. We wanted to give you guys some time before we came to see you, but we weren't sure how long you actually would be in here. Just wanted to thank you and make sure you were doing alright."

Dean nods, standing when Ally comes over to give him a hug too. He gives her a one armed squeeze before reaching out to take Darren's hand in a tight grip. "We appreciate it guys. Sam actually didn't wake up until last night so you actually have pretty good timing. Besides," he lowers his voice, "we'll need to scram tomorrow. We don't exactly have good insurance with what we do."

Ally winks at him. "I guessed as much." She pulls up one of the extra chairs in the room. "So… ghosts are real."

Sam chuckles, wincing with the movement.

Dean notices. "You need more meds?"

Sam shakes his head. "I'm fine, Dean."

"If you're sure," Dean murmurs. He turns back to their new friends. "It's rare that something like this will ever affect your life again, but if it does don't be afraid to call us."

Ally nods. "Don't worry, I will." She takes the slip of paper he hands her, pocketing it. She focuses on Sam. "You seem to be doing better."

Sam smiles and shrugs. "Us Winchesters don't stay down long."

Dean chuckles.

Ally smiles, glad to see Sam in a better mood. She can tell they haven't talked things out yet. They're still careful with each other. Relearning their relationship she guesses. But she knows Dean will fix things once they're out of the hospital. At least, he'd better. She looks to him when Sam turns to Darren to ask about the final salt and burn.

Dean meets her questioning gaze and nods once with a crooked smile. 'When he's eating better' he mouths.

She nods understandingly and tunes into the conversation between Sam and Darren.

"So he shot himself? Right there in the flower bed?" Sam asks incredulously.

Darren chuckles, shrugging. "The guys were a little crazy. Lonely from living out there I'm guessing. His brother probably went crazy and died from a tumor in his brain and he didn't want to be left there alone."

Sam falls quiet at that. Tries to keep the conversation going, but they can all see the strain. "Then you guys left," Sam murmurs, eyebrows furrowing. He looks to Dean. "Right?"

Dean nods. "They had to bring up the ambulance."

Sam huffs. "I'm surprised I lasted that long."

Dean flinches, unnoticed by Sam who has turned back to Ally and Darren.

Ally leans in conspiratorially. "The nurses told us the story when we said we were here to see you."

Sam looks to her. "Oh God. What now?"

She blinks, looking to Dean.

Dean laughs. "This isn't the first time we had a hospital staff talking."

Ally shakes her head, looking back to Sam. "They were just telling what the paramedic that was in the truck with you guys told them. How they didn't have any blood with them because they thought you wouldn't be that bad since you were in a cabin. So Dean had them take it from him."

Sam's eyes snap to him.

Of course, at that moment a nurse sticks her head in. "Dean Whitfield? It's time to change your bandages."

Dean sighs, standing up to lift one side of his shirt to show the nurse. "Already done, ma'am. Did it this morning when the stitches were itching."

She blinks, surprised at the perfect wrapping, then smiles. "Alright. Well I'll let you be then."

Sam grits his teeth. "You were bleeding out and you had them take blood from you?" He sits up, ignoring his own pain to slip a finger in Dean's belt loop closest to him and pulls him closer to his hospital bed before he could sit down.

Dean stumbles closer, letting out an indignant 'Hey!'

One hand holding up the shirt and the other gripping Dean's hip and turning him the right way, Sam turns him so that he can see the bandage around his side, mouth grim when he sees how wide it is and how much gauze Dean still used to cover it. "How many stitches?"

Dean sighs. "Fifteen."

Sam lets out a hiss. "God damnit, Dean."

"Hey, you wouldn't have made it down the mountain," Dean growls back. He doesn't jerk away though. Waits until Sam is done with his own overprotectiveness.

Sam sighs before letting Dean go. "I had forgotten about that," he murmurs regretfully.

"You were pretty out of it," Dean answers with an eye roll. "Not like it was anything compared to you." He nods to his brother's bandaged chest.

Sam falls silent again, mind working as he suddenly recalls a lot of the last minutes of his consciousness at the cabin. He looks to Dean, face soft and vulnerable against his will.

Ally stands, seeing the moment. "We'll leave you guys alone. I guess this is the permanent goodbye."

Dean looks to her, mustering up a grin. "Unless you find a need to call us."

Ally laughs. "No offense, but God I hope not."

Sam smiles almost self deprecatingly at her. "I don't blame you."

She waves him off. "I'd love to see you guys again in a non-ghost setting. Until then, if ever, behave you two."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Yes mom."

She smiles, taking Darren's hand, who waves with his free one.

When the room is empty again, Dean turns to Sam.

Sam is already looking at him. "Now or later?"

Dean knows what he's asking. Knows that Sam will think he'll never bring it up again if he says later. But he knows that the hospital is not the place to do this at. "Later," he answers. He reaches out to grip Sam's wrist when his brother looks away, nodding his head. "Not never. Later. Okay?"

Sam nods, still not looking at him.

Dean can tell he doesn't believe him. He figures that's pretty deserved considering the past times he's always avoided talks like this. But... Sam is suffering. And suffering at Dean's hand is not something he'll stand for. So they will talk. And maybe it won't fix everything, but it'll be a start. For now, he lets Sam turn the TV back on and doesn't even comment when he stops on the history channel. Some things never change after all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Short chapter for such a long wait so I apologize for that. I've just been really busy lately. **

**Also, maybe two more chapters to go! :) This story is shorter than others, but was really an idea I had to get out.**

**Thanks to those still reading!**

* * *

**Ch. 9**

Sam manages to eat something better than pudding for dinner. He manages to eat a whole sandwich. It's not a big sandwich. It doesn't even have that much on it. It's just a cold cut sandwich. Dean counts that as a win, even if he can tell his brother still isn't feeling better enough to really feel hungry.

It isn't until the next day that he takes a cab to where he left the Impala, coming back to help his brother sit up and get dressed. Sam's movements are still stiff and small, but they manage quite well. He fills out the paperwork and almost runs out the door to pull up to the front. They'll be in the wind before any problems with insurance and payments arise, but it still makes him nervous to stay in town. Besides, he's always hated sticking around where they're known.

He leaves Sam sleeping in the car as he pulls up to their hotel room, running in to gather their things and checking out before pulling onto the highway with no real destination in mind. He thinks about that for a while. Trying to decide if there's a place he wants to have this talk. Honestly? Nowhere. But it's going to happen. He owes Sam that. Especially if it's tearing him up this bad.

He finally decides that he might as well drive back to the cabin. It isn't too awfully far and that's better to have a sit down conversation in than in some random motel room. Sam's been fraying recently. Maybe talking at the cabin would be easier for him. And they can regroup a little before going on more hunts to make sure this doesn't happen again.

Sam sleeps through state lines, Dean keeping the radio on a soft rock station out of habit. But maybe also because if Sam wakes up he wants him to be able to go back to sleep. He needs enough sleep to heal. He also needs to eat. Dean goes back and forth trying to decide whether he should wake him or not. He eventually settles on waiting and making some soup or chili when they get to the cabin.

He pulls up to the cabin around eleven, the sun long set behind the trees. Weirdly enough, he relaxes when the headlights of the Impala reveal the shape of the lonely cabin. Maybe it's the though of 'home' that he's starting to associate with it. As much as he can when he thinks about how they don't have Bobby's house anymore. Of course, it's better than when he was in Purgatory. There was no such thing as shelter there.

Sam barely wakes as Dean heaves him out of the Impala and walks him into the cabin, letting out a few hisses of pain on the way. Dean eventually gets him settled in the bedroom, pulling out the bottle of pain pills from the hospital and gets one down Sam's throat with the help of a glass of water and lays him down. Then he gets started on dinner.

The cabin is stocked for meals like this. There's plenty of cans of tomatoes, beans, sauce, and packets of chili powder to make this work. Not to mention the freezer of venison and hamburger. He checks the hand written dates, noting that most of them will hold out for a while. Rufus wasn't a slouch when it came to preserving his meats. "No need to go shopping," Dean sighs, relieved. He doesn't want to leave until the next hunt. Whenever they decide to find one.

Sam wakes up right before the chili is done, heading to the bathroom before making his way slowly to the kitchen. "Smells good," he murmurs, sitting gingerly into a chair at the table. He keeps his arms resting around his stomach, leaning forward to keep the cuts from stretching and stinging.

"Good," Dean answers. He eyes the careful way Sam is moving. "You okay?"

Sam nods. "Pill is helping. Just still stings a little."

Dean nods understandingly. There are way too many cuts on Sam's chest to totally be free of pain. "You're allowed to have two so you can have another one if you want. It might help you sleep after you eat."

Sam nods. "I think I'll do that."

"He didn't break anything, did he?" Dean asks quietly, walking forward. He hands Sam his second allowed pill and a glass of water.

Sam shakes his head before downing the pill and washing it down. "No. He liked to see the visible signs." He looks up at Dean, shrugging one shoulder and trying for a reassuring smile. "That's one good thing I guess." He sets the glass on the table.

Dean puts a hand on his shoulder, walking around behind the chair to rest his other hand on the second shoulder when Sam doesn't protest. He digs in slightly with his fingers, keeping it gentle yet firm. "Your shoulders hurt from hanging there?"

Sam nods, letting his head fall forward and his eyes fall closed. "Yeah. Wrists too, but that's a given. I'm surprised they're okay."

Dean reaches down with one hand, taking Sam's wrist when his brother brings it up to him. He lets out a hiss at the bruised wring, all the way around the base of his hand. Now that the bandages are off, he fully sees the extent of damage Sam's own weight had done to his hands. The rough scabs don't look nearly as bad as the bruising that surrounds it. "That hurt you?"

"Not too much." He moves his hand in circle. "Still mobile."

Dean chuckles a little, relieved. "Alright." He goes back to working on Sam's shoulders, rubbing down the strained muscles until he gets to his elbow on each arm. When he's done, he squeezes his shoulders one more time before going to check on the chili. "Hope that helps."

Sam lets out a short, airy laugh. "It always helps." He stretches his arms out in front of him, smiling more at how they don't feel as stiff or hurt as much. "You should be a massage therapist."

Dean rolls his eyes, filling two bowls. "I'll get right on that."

They eat in silence. Besides Sam's compliment on the food. "You always make the best chili."

"Dude, I fed you as a kid. I've become the master of making a pot of chili." He feels relief settle into his stomach as Sam eats it, not picking at it like he would if he still were feeling sick to his stomach.

When Sam starts falling asleep in his chair, Dean sets his hands on his shoulders again. "C'mon. Let's get you into bed before that second pill totally incapacitates you." He leads his half-asleep brother into the bedroom, pulling off his jacket and shoes before letting him lay down. He's pulling the covers over him when Sam speaks again.

"Really did miss you." He settles deeper into his pillow. "Wanted you."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Now that's the pills talking." He tries to ignore the way the words want to burry themselves in his heart. Tell him that his brother really did miss him enough to want him here. Even if he was able to have a normal life.

"Not. 'S truth." Sam mumbles.

"Alright. Go to sleep." He runs his hand through Sam's hair once, unable to stop himself. Old habits die hard. "For the record, I missed you too." He leaves before he can say or do anything else. The couch isn't his favorite place, but Sam doesn't need another body in the bed with him, no matter how often it's happened before. No sense putting his chest at risk. It's hurting him enough as it is.

Dean puts the rest of the chili away before going to settle on the couch. Looking up blankly at he ceiling, he can vaguely hear the sounds of Sam's soft snores starting up. It means his brother is going into a deep, drug induced sleep. Which is good, considering how bad the bags under his eyes have been recently.

It takes longer than it should for his eyes to fall closed considering the past few days they've had. But he doesn't even realize when it finally happens.

* * *

Waking up in the morning is painful for Sam. Sitting up in bed pulls a groan from him before he can stop it, and he has no qualms about making his pills his first priority. Dean is already making breakfast as he makes his way slowly into the kitchen. "Morning." He pours out two pills from the bottle on the table and grabs a water bottle from the fridge.

"Morning." Dean woke up too early for his liking, but was unable to go back to sleep when he realized that today was going to be the day that he had to talk to Sam. His mind has been running a million miles a minute to try and figure out how he should approach this gap still between them.

Sure, they're being civil right now. It's always like this after a hunt where they almost lose each other. But of course later, when the fear has gone, all of the anger and resentment hits again and really, Dean's just tired of it. All of the crap that comes from their fights. Sam's excuses to make starving himself okay.

Dean knows he isn't doing it for attention. Sam never likes to draw attention to himself. That's why he kept it hidden until it was so obvious in Dean's face. And now that he's being almost pressured into feeling better, he's going to start closing off again. Make Amelia and Dean's crappy excuse of a distraction as the reason he's upset. But Dean really doubts that's all it is.

That's why he has to find the right way to start this conversation. Get Sam to talk instead of close himself off. Find a way to take one step in the right direction. Because if Sam knows he's making an effort, Sam will make the next leap. He really doesn't want to get into a fight with Sam in the almost delicate state he's in right now. But if they talk, then things can start moving towards the better.

"Sleep okay?" he finally asks as he watches Sam head toward his seat at the table. He's still walking pretty carefully.

"Pills helped," Sam answers after downing the new ones. "Not sure I've felt this battered in a while," he mutters, sitting down at the table.

"Doing alright?" Dean asks, concerned. "You look like you're really hurting." He lets his eyes take in his brother before he turns back to the pan of bacon. It's been a while since he's seen Sam like this. And the way his t-shirt still hangs off his shoulders is worrying. He's glad Sam is eating now. Maybe it's his concern that's giving Sam the push he needs to eat more.

"I'll live," Sam answers. "How's your side?"

Dean shrugs, making up their plates and going to sit at the table. He slides Sam's over to him. "Not hurting much anymore. Healing as well as you'd expect."

"That's good." Sam moves his food around his plate. Doesn't take a bite.

Dean grits his teeth, making himself calm down before addressing it. "Sam. You need to eat."

Sam swallows, feeling his stomach start to protest at the thought. Dean said they would talk things out. He may have not totally believed him, but he had that small hope that his brother would actually want to sit down and try to fix things. But they're not at the hospital anymore, he's awake and feeling better, and he still hasn't brought it up.

"Sam."

Sam. Not Sammy. He never thought he'd miss that. "I don't think eating would be a good idea," he gets out.

"Sam. Calm down."

Sam's eyes snap to his.

Dean holds eye contact. "You need to eat if you're going to get better."

"I don't know…"

"Not eating isn't going to help anything," Dean cuts in.

"I can't…" Sam takes a breath, trying not to make things worse, "I can't keep it down," he breathes.

"You can," Dean urges. "And you will. You hear me?" His tone is commanding, but his eyes are only earnest. A mix of worried and stern. It's a familiar look. His big brother look.

Sam feels his chest relax just a little. He looks down at his plate. Bacon, eggs, and toast. The food that _Dean_ made for him. Not some random diner food. Not something he'd do out of habit. Something that Dean did for him. Because he _wants_ him to eat.

"Eat, and we'll talk."

Sam looks up at him, understanding.

Dean looks back. "Promise."

Sam picks up his fork.

They don't talk anymore that day. Sam eats what Dean makes for lunch and dinner without prompt.


	10. Chapter 10

**One more chapter after this one! :)**

**Thanks to everyone who followed and I warn that the next chapter will be the reason for the rating.  
**

**This could have been the last chapter, but I felt the need to continue and round it out just a tiny bit more.**

**I hope you like it.**

* * *

**Ch. 10**

Dean decides to walk the gauntlet before breakfast. Make sure Sam doesn't get sick with the anxiety. He knows for a fact that with the way his brother's stomach is still getting used to food again, it wouldn't take much to make it rebuke breakfast if they ate first.

Rolling off the couch, he stretches his back and turns on the coffee maker so it's done when they are. Going into the bedroom, he sits at the end of the bed and puts a hand to Sam's leg. "Hey." He shakes it a little. "Wake up."

Sam groans, sitting up to look over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

Dean motions for him to sit up, hands moving to his lap.

"Dean?"

It had been a long few days since the hunt. From the hospital to now, Dean's carefully thought about what to say. Now, he sits on the edge of the bed by Sam's feet and looks down at his hands until Sam says his name.

Sam speaks up again when Dean doesn't answer. "Dean, what's wrong?"

It takes Dean another minute to gather his words. "I'm not very good at this. You of all people know that. But for you… I'm going to do my best." He finally looks up to see Sam staring questioningly at him.

Eyebrows furrowed, Sam tilts his head.

Dean takes a deep breath, and takes the plunge. "You've been waiting a long time for someone to listen to you. To notice what's going on with you. And I think it's about time that someone did." When he sees tears well up in Sam's eyes, he reaches out to lay his hand on Sam's ankle through the blanket. A small point of reassuring contact. "Talk to me. I'm ready to listen."

The word 'floodgates' don't even begin to describe what opens then. Words just start pouring out of his mouth in spurts and sobs. How walking back to the Impala alone that day brought back so many horrible memories. How not having a body to even claim and not know what happened made everything seem so hopeless. How he researched how to fix the Impala so he could do it himself and keep someone else's grubby hands from touching what Dean cares for most.

He goes through the month before he met Amelia. How he just drove, ending up at a new bar almost every night if he didn't pull over to pass out in exhaustion first. He goes through the wreck with the dog. How he was a little drunk and a lot depressed and didn't see the dog run into the road until it was too late and almost wrapped the car around the tree to keep from killing something else.

"Story of my life," he interjects.

Dean flinches. It goes unnoticed as Sam continues.

He finally gets to how that accident had sobered him up right quick enough to get the dog to the vet where he finally met Amelia. Through the major parts of the year where she was the only reason he wasn't drunk, she was the only reason he wasn't dead, and she was the only reason he didn't go through with trying to find a way to _get _dead because there was no possible way to get Dean back this time with no idea what happened.

Through the whole thing, Dean is a comforting weight on his ankle. Even if he can't look at Sam for some parts, for fear of losing it to tears or to anger, he never moves his hand. In the end, he's hating himself for taking this long to see how underneath the 'normal' Sam pulls on, he's still falling apart because Dean hadn't taken the time to put him together again. And then it gets worse.

"And I'm sorry I didn't look for you," Sam is sobbing now, finally reaching out to Dean with a hesitant hand. "I was a mess and it all seemed so hopeless and I didn't have anyone, I didn't know where you were or if you hadn't just exploded with Dick. I just… I can only take losing you so many times…"

Dean finally closes the distance then, wrapping his arms around Sam's shoulders and not even feeling a bit annoyed when tears start soaking his shirt where Sam tucks his face into his chest. "Easy, Sammy. Easy. I'm sorry. So sorry, little brother. I should have let you explain sooner. It's alright. I understand. Shhh…"

But Sam keeps on sobbing, the tears loose now until they're gone. "But you _can't_ understand. You can't understand how I… I couldn't even find out what happened to you. Why I didn't even try. And I get it. I'm a pathetic excuse of a brother. Of a person. Because I didn't-"

"_Hey_." Dean cuts him off with a growl. "I don't want to hear another word like that. You hear me?" He squeezes Sam to his chest as if he can protect him from all of the bad thoughts. "I shouldn't have said that Benny has been a better brother. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I _don't_ mean it. I was angry. But now… I had no right to be. There was probably nothing you could have done. Even if you _did _know I was in purgatory. But you didn't. I should have got that."

Sam shakes his head. "You couldn't have. And…" He loses his words then.

Dean shushes him, rubbing his back. "And what?"

Sam shakes his head. "It doesn't matter."

"Sam. It matters. _You_ matter. I'm not going to ignore you like that again. God, when those people looked at me like I was the reason you were so sick…" He shakes his head. "And in a way, I was."

Sam pulls back now, shaking his head. "No. You weren't. I haven't been eating well since you disappeared. I just…"

"It's been worse since I got back," Dean says lowly, leaning forward to get Sam's attention. "I know that. Now that I've thought about it, I can see you've barely eaten at all. And I know that Amelia fed you when you were with her, right?"

Sam nods once, not looking at him.

"And I didn't catch it. I know that when things go wrong, the first thing to go is your appetite."

Sam shrugs.

"What were you going to say?"

Sam's entire body tenses. "It doesn't matter," he murmurs.

"Sam."

"Dean. Please."

"You can't keep going like this. Do you think I can't see what's going on? You're drowning yourself, Sam. We aren't truly going to be able to fix this if you don't let me in again." Dean reaches out, ignoring Sam's slight flinch to take his face in his hands. "Sam. Let me in."

"You'll hate me," he chokes out.

"Never." He runs his fingers through Sam's hair, pushing it out of his face. "I'm still here, aren't I? After everything?"

Sam sniffs, eyes looking away. He grits his teeth, trying to keep the new tears at bay. He's so tired of crying.

"Easy, Sam. It's okay."

Sam shakes his head. "It's not. It's not okay because you were down there fighting for you life everyday and I didn't even look for a way to save you. And when you got back, I just…" Sam folds in on himself in shame, looking so small for someone so big. "I almost felt disappointed."

Dean feels that like a punch to his gut.

Sam won't look at him. "You were back. Again. And I'll never know for how long. I don't know when I'll lose you again. When I won't be able to save you from something else. I thought I was losing you again already when you were with Benny taking care of those other vampires and didn't answer your phone. I got there as fast as I could and you… you could have been dead. I don't know how many more times I can stand you dying."

The fist around Dean's heart loosens when he thinks back to how Sam was after the Mystery Spot case. How crazy he was for a few days when it came to Dean leaving his sight. How every morning, he would look for Dean first, as if making sure he was still there. He never got the full story, but he could see how it tore Sam up. This is exactly the same thing.

He pulls Sam back to him. "I'm not going anywhere, Sammy."

"You don't know that," he murmurs into his shoulder.

"I do."

Sam shakes his head. "You don't. And with all of this demon tablet crap…"

"We'll figure it out. Right? And we'll get better. We'll fix this. Us. And we'll work our way towards getting you better and working together again. Okay? I'm done chewing you out. For now."

Sam smiles a tiny bit at that. "Fair enough."

Dean chuckles. "You want to try and eat something?"

Sam sits for a minute, looking down at his hands. Then nods. "Yeah. I think… I think I'm actually hungry."

Dean smiles. "Good. That's real good Sam."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Why…" he shrugs, looking out the window, "why did you kiss me? Back at the cabin? It's just…"

Dean nods. He understands. He hasn't made a move to repeat the performance and has been sleeping on the couch, seemingly to make that clear. "I wanted to. It felt like the right thing to do." He shrugs. "And I was a little selfish. I missed it. But… now that I know you're okay… we need to make sure _we_ are okay before… _if_, we're going to get into that again."

Sam nods, looking down at his lap again. "Okay. I… understand."

Dean reaches out, touching his arm. "That was okay… right?"

Sam huffs out a tired laugh. "Yeah." He finally looks up through his bangs. "I missed it too."

Dean gives him a soft smile. "Okay. First, breakfast. Then, we start looking for another job. In the meantime, we start figuring out ways to help us get better. As a team."

Sam smiles a little back. "Okay."

"Oh." Dean pauses standing up. "Just… I want to let you know that I acknowledge the fact that… you gave up Amelia. Obviously you stayed. And plan on staying. So… just wanted to say… I'm sorry for that. And… thanks for sticking around. At least until this is all over."

Sam shrugs, standing.

Dean lets it go, turning to start breakfast. Obviously the Amelia thing will be touchy for a while. He respects that. They don't talk anymore for a while.

"So…" Sam starts as he's looking through the paper after breakfast, "a riddle."

"Oh boy." Dean turns to him from the couch. "Lay it on me."

"How does someone get a crushed skull in a locked apartment with nothing heavier inside than her flat screen TV which was untouched?"

Dean thinks a minute. "No idea."

Sam chuckles. "Me neither. Wanna find out?"

* * *

It was a simple salt and burn. Two days total to take care of it. Vengeful spirit and whatnot. Driving from that case is when Dean brings up Amelia again. Offers a night of fun. Wanting to pull Sam out of that slight depression he still seems to be in. His stress over what the demon tablet could tell them. Then Garth called them and assigned them their next case.

It wasn't until after solving the LARPing problem that Sam answers him.

He thinks back to what Dean said at Rufus's cabin. _We need to make sure we are okay._ "Having fun won't help me. It'll help both of us." The crooked smile that spreads across his face is genuine. He knows this is just the thing to help them with that. Judging by the grin that Dean almost can't keep from his face, his brother agrees with him too.

It's running onto that fake battlefield side by side, that Sam remembers what it's like to fight so seamlessly with Dean. It may have been a fake battle. It may not have been life or death. But it was the first time in a long time that they had so much fun standing back to back, fighting for some sort of victory. Together.

He had to tell Dean to take it easy on the poor civilians sometimes. He had to put up with the never ending stream of movie quotes (which he sometimes answered with his own) and quick witted responses to threats from the opposing team. But it was probably the most fun he'd had in a while. Dean too.

When they were done winning (Charlie thanked them profusely for their help) it was Dean who wiped off Sam's face, just like he was the one to put it on. And vice versa. He yanked the string that held Sam's hair back out when they were done, teasing him about his little pony tail and grinning at the put upon sigh that told him Sam knew he'd never hear the end of this one.

It was a step in the right direction for both of them. Of course, that's why after that, they get hit with a few tough cases. Then, Kevin translates the demon tablet and it all heads straight to hell.


End file.
